The Wistful Silence
The first shard weighed four ounces. The second, three and a half. I held them up to the window, counting the hours left in the day, the days left in the year, the minutes left before the light would fail us. My hands were steady, but my breath was not. It rattled in my chest, a dry rattle like gravel in a tin cup. "You’re talking to them again," said Jonas. He stood in the doorway, his face...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen