The Wistful Silence
The rain fell in a steady, gray curtain, blurring the edges of the world until the road and the fields were indistinguishable from one another. You drove the black sedan down the narrow lane of Oakhaven, the wipers beating a slow, rhythmic time against the windshield, a metronome for a day that had already begun to unravel. The town was quiet, too quiet, the kind of silence that sits heavy on...
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