The Faded Portrait
The train shook. Dust coated my teeth. I spat on the gravel. It clung. I looked at the box. It was heavy. The wood was oak. Dark. I had carried it for six hours. My shoulders burned. The heat pressed down. The sky was white. Bleached. I saw the station ahead. Smoke billowed from the engine. Black. Thick. I closed my eyes. I breathed in. It tasted of coal. I am a man of law. I used to be. Now I...
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