The Distant Garden
The train slowed. It shuddered against the track. I looked out the window. The landscape blurred. Grey fields. Dead trees. The sky was low. It pressed down on the land. I held the box. It was small. It was wooden. It was warm. I had carried it for three days. My hand ached. I did not open it. I knew what was inside. Or I thought I did. I was a scholar. I studied things. I categorized them. I...
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