The Faded Guest
The glass cracked. It did not shatter. It did not fly. It simply split down the middle, a thin white line appearing against the polished surface of my left hand. I held it up to the light in the break room. The fracture was perfect. A clean bisect. "Are you bleeding, Mr. Ashworth?" I looked up. Helen stood by the coffee machine, her arms crossed over her gray cardigan. She did not look at my...
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