The Distant Garden
The notice from the District Office sat on the kitchen table, its ink still wet enough to smear if one were careless, a pale blue rectangle that seemed to absorb the grey light of the afternoon. I read it three times, my fingers tracing the jagged edges of the paper, feeling the dryness in my throat that had persisted since I last drank water. It stated, in the dry, impersonal language of...
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