The Distant Clue
The oak stands at the center of the quad. It is a massive, ancient thing, its bark furrowed like the face of a man who has forgotten how to speak. We are in the year of the Great Silence, though we do not call it that. We call it the term. We are students at St. Jude’s College, an institution of stone and shadow, where the air smells of wet chalk and old paper. I am seventeen. I am a boy of...
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