The Distant Threshold
The train stopped. Steam hissed. Cold air. I stepped off. My shoes were wet. The platform was gray. Industrial. Steel and rust. I held my bag. Heavy. Inside, the specimen jar. Glass. Sealed. The creature inside was still. A beetle. Black. Shiny. Dead? I hoped it was dead. I walked. My feet hurt. The city was loud. Trams. Engines. People. They looked at me. I looked down. I was a prisoner. Of my...
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