The Faded Sutra
The chair sat empty. I sat in it. It was oak. Heavy. Cold. The wood had a grain like old skin. I touched it. Rough. Smooth. The room was large. Too large. Shadows pooled in the corners. I was here. I was alone. The silence was loud. It pressed against my ears. I waited. I had waited for years. Not for this chair. For the man who sat in it. My father. He was gone. But the chair remained. It did...
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