The Golden Greenhouse
The coat was green. Not the green of leaves, but the sickly, faded green of old hospital curtains. It had hung in the hall for ten years. Ten years since the incident. Ten years since Marcus had pulled the trigger. The coat was thin. It had worn through at the elbows. The cuffs were frayed into white threads. It smelled of mothballs and old sweat. Marcus kept it on the hook. He did not wear it....
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