The Golden Greenhouse
The roof collapsed. Not a leak. A break. Green glass. Shards. Rain. I looked up. The sky was wrong. It was not blue. It was not grey. It was the color of old bruised skin. A yellowish, sickly violet. "Did you see that?" I asked. My voice was small. It did not belong to me. Or perhaps it did. I had forgotten my own voice. "See what, Arthur?" It was not my voice either. It was a man’s voice. Low....
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