The Distant Wound
The silence in the Atrium of St. Jude’s wasn’t an absence of sound, but a dense, pressurized medium, a thick, gelatinous substance that you felt against your eardrums and in the hollows of your throat, a heavy, opaque fog that settled into the marrow of your bones before it even registered as quiet, and you stood there, small and shivering, your fingers wrapped tightly around the cold iron...
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