The Wistful Silence
You wake with a taste of copper in your mouth. It is thick. It is old. The room is small. The walls are damp. They breathe. You are in the cellar. You know this. You have always known this. But today the air is different. It is sharper. It cuts. You look at your hands. They are pale. The veins are dark blue ropes. You flex your fingers. They move. You count them. Ten. You count again. Ten. You...
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