The Golden Scar
The bus hisses its brakes into the depot, a long, shuddering exhale that smells of diesel and wet wool, and you step off onto the platform with the heavy, rhythmic thud of boots that have walked too far, knowing that the silence waiting for you in the house is louder than the engine, a vacuum that has been sucking the air out of your life for months, leaving your lungs dry and your eyes...
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