The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-17 19:26:19 -

The oak tree stood in the yard. It had been there before I arrived. It would be there after I left. I sat on the porch. The wood creaked under my weight. I held my rifle across my knees. The metal was cold. My hands were not. Thomas walked up the steps. He wore his uniform. It was too tight across the shoulders. He looked like a boy trying on a man’s coat. "Morning," I said. "Morning, sir." He...

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