The Distant Garden
The gate is rusted. You know this because you have checked it every morning for three years. It is a simple iron thing, painted black once, now the color of dried blood and old dust. It stands between the road and the garden. The garden is overgrown. The roses have eaten the hedges. The hedges have swallowed the path. You are the only person who knows the garden is still there. You are the only...
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