The Distant Threshold
The shadows in the St. Jude’s Municipal Library do not move when you move; they move three seconds later, a lagging echo that the senior staff dismisses as a trick of the afternoon light filtering through the high, stained-glass windows, but I have spent the last six months watching my own silhouette detach from my heels and hesitate where I do not, a ghostly duplication of my indecision that...
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