The Pale Door
The truck stops. The engine cuts. The silence that follows is not empty but heavy, a physical weight pressing against your eardrums. You sit behind the wheel. Your hands are still on the rim. You do not let go. You cannot let go. The road stretches out before you, a grey ribbon unspooling into the mist. It is late. Or early. Time has lost its shape. You look in the rearview mirror. The...
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