Long ago

It was breaking as a beautiful day. The light poured over the desk, straight through the hazy window, bathing the piled papers and half-used markers in pale yellow.

A glass of milk, left from the night before, topped the glass-covered desktop, and a soft film rested atop the still fresh white. A spec of precipitation lingered on the lukewarm cup, a paranormal remembrance of yesterday's nourishment. 

Ring! Ring! He jolted to the muted noise, his cheek pressed into the mold of his sticky iPhone. It was his mother.

 


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