The Faded Dust
The bread is black. It is not burnt. It is the color of deep earth after a long rain. You hold it in your hands. The crust is hard. It smells of ash and old wood. You are in a field. The grass is high. It sways without wind. You are tired. Your body is heavy. You feel a hunger that is not in your stomach. It is in your bones. You remember the kitchen. It was bright. White tiles. The smell of...
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