The Golden Farce

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2026-08-17 19:32:14 -

The Golden Farce

The hawk sat on the stone. It did not look at me. It looked through me, toward the grey sky that hung low and heavy over the valley. Its feathers were worn, the tips frayed like old wool, the gold in its plumage faded to a dull, sickly yellow. I knew this bird. I knew it because I was the bird. Or rather, I was the cage it had once lived in. I am Thomas. I was a clerk. That is the only name I...

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