The Distant Whispers
The gravel crunches under the tires of the pickup, a sound like bones breaking, and you stand on the porch with your hands jammed into your pockets to keep them from shaking. Your father does not look back. The door slams, cutting the air, and the silence that follows is not quiet; it is a physical weight, pressing against your eardrums, sterile and cold. You are twelve. You are alone with your...
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