The Golden Harbor
The train rattled. The window was fogged. I wiped a circle. The view was gray. The town of Blackwood was close. It sat in the valley. It looked small. It looked tired. I held my bag tight. My knuckles were white. I had been away for ten years. Ten years of silence. Ten years of running. I was coming back to the house. The house that was mine. Or so I told myself. The driver stopped. The brakes...
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