The Wistful Skyline
The rain had not ceased for three days, a persistent, gray curtain that blurred the horizon and turned the muddy road into a slick, treacherous ribbon of clay and silt, and I walked within it, my boots heavy with the weight of the earth and the memory of a man who no longer existed in the eyes of the law but who lived on in the quiet, stubborn architecture of my mind, for I was a soldier, or...
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