The Golden Farce

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 08:34:49 -

The Golden Farce

The rain hit the tin roof like gravel. It was a cold, industrial drumbeat. I sat by the stove. The fire was low. Margaret sat across from me. She was quiet. Her hands were still. They were always still. Except for the tremor. That was the only thing that moved. I looked at the house. It was a ruin. But it was my ruin. The beams were black. The plaster fell in flakes. The walls wept. This was...

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