In the middle of the room, I stare through the ceiling. Around the corner, a footstep dissolves into the shadow. Smoke rises, I close my eyes and allow it to braid through my nose and into my chest. The soot takes home and each breath that leaves is thicker than the last.
About the Creator
Caladrius
“Perhaps it’s impossible to wear an identity without becoming what you pretend to be.”
— Orson Scott Card, Ender’s Game
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