The Golden Myth
The bell had not rung. It had broken. This was the first truth. The second was that I was standing in the corridor, my hand still raised, frozen in the arc of a strike that had landed on air. The dust motes danced in the single shaft of light cutting through the high window. They did not fall. They hovered, suspended in the stale, cold air of the Hall of Records. I lowered my arm. My fingers...
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