The Faded Photograph
Gareth. The name hit the air like a thrown stone, cracking against the silence of the gym floor. I looked up from the heavy bag. My knuckles were raw, the skin split and weeping yellow fluid. The sweat in my eyes stung, a sharp, acidic burn that made the world blur into gray smudges. "Round two," Coach Miller said. He didn’t look at me. He was checking his watch, a cheap digital thing with a...
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