The Faded Frequency
The count of the fuel oil stood at forty-two gallons, a figure that weighed on my mind heavier than the iron door I had to keep barred against the wind. I sat in the keeper’s quarters, the smell of damp wool and ozone thick in the air, and listened to the radio hiss. It was a low, grinding noise, like a stone being dragged across wet slate, but if I held my breath and waited for the static to...
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