The Wistful Grid
The glass of the aquarium cracked at 3:14 in the morning, a thin, spider-web fracture that whispered across the dark water, and by the time the sound reached the ear of Thomas, the boy who was supposed to be sleeping, the first drop had already hit the linoleum floor with a soft, heavy thud that sounded like a tear falling. Thomas sat up in his cot, the springs groaning under the sudden shift...
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