The Distant Summer
The matchbook in your hand is warm, the cardboard soft from the friction of your thumb, and you hold it over the open ledger as if it were a live coal. The page beneath your fingers is blank, except for the handwriting that crawls across it in your own slant, dated three days from now, detailing the exact steps you are about to take to save your sister. You are Elias, twelve years old, working...
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