The Faded Frontier
I woke with the taste of iron in my mouth. The air in the bedroom was thick, heavy as wet wool. My hands were shaking. I looked down. My palms were slick with a dark, viscous liquid. It was not blood. It was oil. Black engine grease, smelling of heat and burnt rubber. I sat up. The bed frame groaned. My wife, Sarah, was not beside me. Her side of the mattress was cold. The sheets were twisted...
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