The Wistful Witness

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 19:05:31 -

The smoke tasted of iron and old ash. It coated the back of my throat, a thick, grey film that tasted of the world ending. We were in the cellar. The stone walls wept. Above us, the floorboards groaned under the weight of boots. I held my rifle tight. The wood was slick with sweat. My brother held his. His face was pale. His eyes were wide. He looked like a boy. I looked like a ghost. We were...

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