The Golden Mirror
The landslide does not roar; it simply arrives, a thick, wet silence that swallows the world whole, burying the road that led to your office and the one that led home, leaving you suspended in a tunnel of damp earth and the fading, sickly glow of your dashboard lights, which flicker and die like a heartbeat giving up on its own rhythm, and you are alone, not in the empty car, but in the empty...
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