The Faded Chronicle
I, Francisco Rebelo, died in a hospital bed in the autumn of 1913, though I am writing this from the memory of a man who still believes he can hold a book. It is a strange thing to remember a death that has not yet fully settled. I was thirty-four, a clerk at the Porto customs house, and I had wanted my father’s chronicle more than I wanted my own lungs to keep filling. The chronicle was a...
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