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Weekly Contest #285
I remember Dad’s house. I remember the steep, carpeted stairs, the large, bare bedroom, the vast and overgrown garden at the back that bordered on the woods, the taste of tiger bread and salted butter, and the fairies. It’s one of those houses that’s sandwiched in between a million others, but it has three bedrooms, one bathroom, and a kitchen and living room of course. It has a patio and a rose bush outside that I once reached into the depths of to retrieve a plump, pink flower, only when I pulled out my hand a bee sat perfectly fat on my ...
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