The Distant Garden

added blog Literature

2026-08-24 17:54:16 -

I. My hands are already wet with the grit of the broken atrium glass when I wake, the shards still warm from the fever of the dream, and I sit up in the dark of the room to find the dusting has stopped the whole city, the air thick and still as the back of a closed throat. I am Crescencio Fuentes, forty-two years old, and I am an excise man, a title that carries the weight of every widow’s...

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