The Distant Legend
The train was not a vehicle of transport but a membrane, a thick-skinned beast that swallowed the gray morning and exhaled it in puffs of white steam that hung in the air like ghosts refusing to leave. I sat in the corner, my knees pressed against the window, watching the fields of wheat bleed into the distance. My father’s face was the only map I had, a map drawn in the lines of his...
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