The Distant Threshold
The rain had been falling since before dawn, a persistent, cold sheet that turned the highway into a ribbon of black glass, and I stood on the shoulder with my hand resting on the cold steel of my service weapon, watching the headlights of the convoy ahead flicker and die one by one, each vanishing light a small death in the grey void. I was not alone, for the memory of my wife, Sarah, was a...
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