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THE OTHERS

“Tom Roehn confessed.’

Annika looks at the policemen in silence. After those words, it’s perfectly quiet. On the opposite side of the fence, the snowdrift has stopped its drift, and is now only snow: white, and cold. She feels guilty. For not responding, and letting the officers down. To her, they look disappointed.

Should she fling her arms around their necks? Shake their cold hands? Perhaps shower them with kisses? Even a ‘thank you’ would sound strange, because the truth isn’t a gift. Annika has never asked for it, and might be better off now, if they had kept it to themselves.

What do you do with the truth? Does it have a purpose? Or do you merely receive it, take it to the attic, and bury it underneath old photos, in the creaking drawer of a dusty shelf, where you forget it u

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