The clock on the mantelpiece, the clock that her mother had wound religiously once a week, and that had been right only twice a day since she died, was gone.

Sep 7, 2020CommentShare

She gazed out at the distant mountains and the flat, endless wheat fields. This had been home once, but now it belonged to the past.

BEQUEST BY LINDA GRIFFIN 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 59

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