Itβs re-write time and from the muddy pool of shitty drafts, a small jewel appears β at least I think itβs a jewel. I rinse it, I dry it and polished it down to the bone.
What’s left is a mere smidgen of a vignette, but it gives me hope. – A different kind of hope from what I had back then, – I hope. . .
He woke me in the middle of the night. βYou have to help me now Vigdis,β I remember his stuttered whisper. His silhouette looked pitiful in the arched opening heβd cut – between my two basement rooms – years earlier. His figure crooked and unstable against the light falling in behind him.
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