The Distant Wound
The glass in the hallway was cold. I remember the texture first, not the sound. It pressed against my cheek like a sheet of ice. Then the sharp crack, bright and sudden, splitting the air. The mirror broke. It did not shatter into a thousand pieces. It fractured. A single, jagged line ran from the top corner to the bottom, splitting the reflection in two. My left eye looked at the left eye. My...
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