The Wistful Show
The glass shattered. Not with a bang, but with a sickening, brittle crack that echoed through the silent, sterile room. Ten-year-old Silas stared at the floor. The ceramic bowl lay in fragments. The contents were gone. Or rather, they had become dust, a fine, gray powder that clung to the white linoleum. He had been holding it. He still felt the weight of it in his hands, a phantom pressure, a...
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