The Golden Scar

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2026-08-17 21:36:01 -

The Golden Scar

The bread in the communal pantry was not food, but a ration of silence, a dense, gray block that tasted of chalk and the metallic tang of the air scrubbers. I held it in my hands, feeling the cold seep into the skin of my palms, a weight that was both physical and existential. For thirty years, I had measured my life in these loaves, in the strict arithmetic of calories allotted to keep the...

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