The Distant Ghost
The glass was cold. It bit into my palm. I held it tight. The room was small. The walls were white. They looked like bone. They looked like paper. I sat in the chair. The chair was hard. It pressed into my spine. I waited. The door opened. No one came in. The air moved. A draft. It smelled of rain. It smelled of dust. I did not breathe. I held the glass. The cold spread. It went up my arm. It...
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