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Excerpts The Distance Keeper
On the horizon, the trees looked like they curved around the earth, wide-angle-lens-wise. Made him feel like he was in a fishbowl full of dust. He looked down instead, checking for cracks or the tell-tale signs of fading in the elastic of the world. His worn-out boots scuffed the dust into the air around him so he moved in a haze. The ground was so dry he could almost walk in the footprints left from yesterday, marked out in the dirt. Here and there he saw the tracks of animals. Tracks only. He hadn't seen an animal in months. Not that there were less animals. Just more space. Toby kept track of distances and he knew. But Geoff said no, that couldn't be right. It was right. The world was stretching like a rubber band. It was pulled taut, ready to snap. Ready to fling them all into space. He walked the distance between his property and his neighbour's. The road was empty. Even the birds were silent now, having sung their tunes to the wide morning and then waited, propped up in the trees, for the next event. The next day or night or what would come. Geoff said there's a time for doing and a time for waiting. Toby was trying to work out which this was.
Read the full story at infinity plus.
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