The Distant Journey
You wake with the taste of copper in your mouth. The air is thick. It smells of wet wool and old rain. You are in the bed. The sheets are damp. Your wife, Eleanor, stands at the foot of the mattress. She does not speak. Her eyes are wide. They do not blink. You look at her. You look at the room. The walls are breathing. The wallpaper peels in slow, long strips. It hangs like skin. You reach for...
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