The Wistful Silence
Elias woke with the taste of dust in his mouth, the recurring dream of the crumbling stone house still clinging to his eyelids like wet wool. He was thirty-four, and his knees had begun to click in a rhythm that matched his heart, a mechanical reminder that the body was a machine running out of oil. He wanted out. He wanted a small house by the river, a job that didn’t require him to run, and a...
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