The Faded Guest

bir ses eklendi Literature

2026-08-21 12:19:57 -

The Faded Guest

The gate creaks. It is a dry, wooden sound. Like a bone snapping. I stand in the yard. The mud sucks at my boots. They are wet. The cold is deep. It sits in my chest. It has been there for years. I look at the house. It is white. It is peeling. The paint hangs in strips. They look like dead skin. The porch light is off. The dark is thick. It presses against the glass. I am a man of numbers. I...

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