The Golden Quest
The jar sat on the counter. It was yellow. Bright, almost aggressive yellow. Like the sun in late August. Marge stared at it. Her hands shook. They always shook now. The tremor started in her fingers, a fine, nervous twitch, and traveled up her arms. She could feel it in her teeth. A rattle. A hum. The house was quiet. Too quiet. The wind pressed against the windowpanes, trying to get in. The...
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