The Faded Frontier
The ink had not dried on the census ledger when the sky broke open, spilling a rain of wet ash that smelled of burnt ozone and old pennies. I was sitting in my cramped office in the basement of the town hall, the fluorescent light humming its sick, yellow hymn above my head, when the first flake landed on the page I was filling. It dissolved into a black stain, eating through the paper like a...
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