The Distant Wound
The candle gutters. You wipe the soot from your eye. The reflection in the glass does not wipe its eye until you have finished. You are Elias. You are twelve. You want the apprenticeship. You want to leave this house. The State Aptitude Test is tomorrow. The mirror is wrong. It has been wrong for three days. "Read it again," your father says. His voice is wet. A rattle in the chest. He leans...
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