The Distant Wound
The tin cup rattled against the rusted table as Elias set it down, the sound sharp and final in the silence of the shelter. "You're not eating," the woman said. Her voice was thin, scraped raw by the wind that had been howling through the broken window frames since dawn. She didn’t look up from the can of peaches she was draining. "You haven't touched the porridge in three days." Elias looked...
0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 1 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр