The Wistful Mountain
The room is small. The air is thick. You are sitting in the corner. Your back is against the cold brick. You are waiting. You do not know what you are waiting for. You know only that you are still. Your hands are in your lap. They are still. You are a soldier. You have worn the uniform for twenty years. The wool is thin now. It frays at the cuffs. You look at the door. It is painted a dull,...
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