The Golden Quest
Three weeks of coughing. Fourteen days of blood on the rag. I counted the stains like coins in a drawer, each one darker than the last, each one a debt I couldn’t pay. The cottage was cold, the kind of damp that settles in the bones and stays there, a permanent guest that would not leave. I sat by the window, watching the fog roll off the quarry, and I knew the truth of it. I was dying. Not...
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