The Faded Dust

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2026-08-19 15:33:41 -

The Faded Dust

The pot sat on the stove. It was black iron, heavy and cold. I watched the flame. It was blue at the base and orange at the tip. It danced. It did not care about me. My name is Martha. I was seven years old. My mother was dead. My father was gone. I was alone in the house. The house was big. It was old. The walls were thick. The air was still. It smelled of dust and wood. I had a bag. It was by...

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