The Golden Greenhouse
Elias, you’re late. The voice in my head was my mother’s, sharp and thin, though she had been dead for six years. I woke with the taste of copper in my mouth and the watch already ticking in my pocket. It was a heavy, gold thing, a pocket watch my father had worn until the day his heart stopped in the hospital bed. The hands were moving counter to the clock on the wall. I knew what that meant....
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