The Faded Apartment
The rain hammers the corrugated tin roof, a relentless, metallic drumming that drowns out the silence of the house. You are on your knees in the mud. The mud is thick, cold, and slick with the runoff of the storm. It clings to your shins, to your hands, to the tattered hem of your dress. You are not a woman. Not anymore. Or perhaps you never were. You are a thing of dust and memory, a wisp of...
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