The Golden Myth
The rain did not fall so much as it pressed against the windows of the truck, a gray, relentless weight that blurred the line between the road and the sky. I held the steering wheel with white knuckles, my fingers numb from the cold that seeped through the leather. In the passenger seat, my brother Thomas slept. He was a small man, fragile as dry kindling, and the journey had been hard on him....
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