The Faded Road
The fog does not lift so much as it is peeled away, layer by translucent layer, by the indifferent rotation of the world around you, and you find yourself standing on the edge of the vast, gray nothingness that the maps of your childhood had labeled as the frontier, though now it is merely the end of the line, the place where the iron track dissolves into the rusted bones of a world that has...
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