The Faded Alibi
The road does not end; it merely forgets the path it was once, dissolving into the grey mud and the whispering reeds that line the riverbank. You are walking. You have been walking for so long that your feet have ceased to be your own, becoming instead two blunt instruments of penance, worn smooth by the friction of miles against the earth. The air is cold, sharp as a blade drawn across the...
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