The Faded River
The porridge was cold. It sat in the bowl, a grey slab of oat and milk, congealing under the fluorescent hum. Elias stared at it. The surface was cracked. A fracture line ran from the rim to the center, a dry scar in the wet mass. He picked up the spoon. The ceramic hit the steel plate. A sharp, brittle sound. He broke the crust. It shivered. It did not yield. It snapped into shards. One piece...
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