The Faded Road
The train did not arrive on time, nor did it leave, for the tracks themselves had ceased to be a path and had become a wound in the earth, a jagged scar of rusted iron and blackened sleepers that bled oil into the soil where the grass had long since surrendered to the encroaching fog, a thick, wet miasma that tasted of copper and old rain, clinging to the wool of Margaret’s coat as she stood...
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