The Pale Letter
October 12, 1924 The silence in the house has become a physical weight, pressing against my eardrums and settling in the hollows of my chest where my heart should beat with vigor. Mother sits by the window in the parlor, her hands folded in her lap, her mouth open in a silent scream that no one hears because she has no voice left to give. The wasting sickness has taken her words first, then her...
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