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Whether the Weather of Either

Sam struggled to stand upright, slipping once or twice in the mud. Jesse could hardly breathe, let alone speak. Light from the windows rippled through the sheets of rain, casting everything in a tenuous glow, a fragile and mercurial reality. Wide eyed, chest heaving, and looking more beast than human, Sam took one slow step after another towards the porch steps.

As much as the warmth of the house billowed from behind, the chill and damp of the night assailed Jesse from the front. Contradictions swirled. The house called escape. The endless night taunted entrapment.

Sam felt nothing, neither cold nor wet. The fiery vision played like a siren’s song to compel each step. This want could not be satisfied. This need could not be denied. Memories wheeled in the turbulent sky crashing down with the force of a thousand imagined tomorrows.

Time stopped at the threshold to the house, 481 Knotty Pine Lane, built in 1937, owned by three families since then. An oasis.

A hideaway.

A last stop before dawn.

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