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Doug’s face at that moment twisted into an expression of a very particular fear. It wasn’t the creeping dread awakened by a shadow at the door, nor the oppressive settling of a weighty comprehension, nor the steeling of the gut that precedes a fated appointment. It was the panic felt when, in the space of a breath, your confident footing slips and you suddenly speed downhill towards icy waters. In that short spell when you see control still within your reach, before you realize that you perceive only its afterimage and that it has, in fact, already left the state, you too would grimace in an involuntary and ineffectual attempt to maintain your poise. Not unlike poor Douglas.
That’s not a metaphor—Doug really was about to fall chest-first into a lake. Well, it is a metaphor, but I’ll come back to that. First, the story of how we got to that point.
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May 2020
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