The Golden Myth
The rain lashed against the single, grimy window of my cubicle, a rhythmic, violent drumming that seemed to vibrate in the fillings of my teeth. I stared at the spreadsheet, the numbers blurring into a meaningless grid of black pixels on the white screen, my fingers hovering over the keyboard in a state of paralyzed anticipation. My sister Clara was dying, a fact that sat in the center of my...
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