The Faded Dust
I dreamed of the bone. Not a skeleton. Just the radius. White. Smooth. It hung in the dark, spinning slowly. I reached for it. My hand passed through. I woke up cold. The sheets were damp. My left knee throbbed. Old injury. The weather is coming. I know by the ache. I know by the way the light hits the dust motes. They dance. They do not care. I put on my boots. Leather. Stiff. They smell of...
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