The Distant Summer
I woke with the taste of rust in my mouth. It was a thick, metallic film that coated my tongue and stuck to my teeth. I spat into the basin. The water was cold. It ran clear. I looked at my hands. They were trembling. They were always trembling. Not from cold. From the waiting. From the silence that had eaten the last three years of my life. The cell was small. The stone was damp. It smelled of...
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