The Spark Inside Me
The rain was falling on Berlin in the kind of way that made you question whether it was water or ground glass, and I was standing in an alley behind a safe house that smelled like cabbage and regret, watching the last of my Spark dissolve into the night sky like a dying firefly. That's what they were called, officially. The Spark. A codename chosen by a committee of men in suits who thought...
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