The Distant Wound
Do you remember the sound the water made when it finally left the basin? It was a dry, sucking rasp, like a mouth closing over a bone, and it filled the drained community pool until the silence that followed was heavier than the humidity of the first mild evening. Xochitl Macías stood on the cracked concrete floor, her scan gun dead in her hand, watching the dust settle on the pebbles that had...
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