The Faded Alibi
The taste of burnt copper filled my mouth, a metallic tang that coated the tongue and refused to wash away, lingering in the back of the throat like a forgotten oath. I was standing in the kitchen of my childhood home, the one on Elm Street that had been gutted by fire three winters ago, yet the linoleum was cold and sticky under my bare feet, and the air smelled of yeast and old bread. My...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 4 Views 0 Anteprima