The Orphan

Standing on a wrinkled map of the city and some faded monochrome photographs that had fallen from his hands, the man who was looking for his missing wife screamed “O angel!” as a blade from his mysterious double, a renowned painter, dove into his lungs while the lights of a small, private museum near the bus depot switched on to welcome an oil-gray twilight of falling snow with their soft apricot glow.

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