The Pale Letter
The rain has been falling for three days, a steady, gray sheet that blurs the line between the asphalt of the service road and the dark, churning mud of the ditch, and you are sitting in the back of a parked sedan, your hands trembling not from the cold but from the sheer, suffocating weight of the silence that has settled over the vehicle like a wet wool blanket, and you realize with a slow,...
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