The Faded Alibi
The dream has no floor, only a suspension of grey dust motes drifting in the static air of the attic, and you are floating there, suspended by the weight of a silence so thick it tastes like iron filings, while your mother’s face is a blurred smudge of exhaustion and fear hovering just out of reach, her mouth moving in shapes that spell out a warning you cannot yet hear. You wake with the...
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