The Pale Tale
The jar is empty. You know it is empty. The glass is thin. The rim is chipped. You hold it in your left hand. Your right hand is shaking. The shaking is small. It is a tremor. It is a lie. You are not afraid. You are not tired. You are just thirsty. The shop is quiet. The dust motes dance in the light. They are gold. They are slow. They are alive. You watch them. You watch the jar. The jar is...
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