The Distant Machine
The letter was found in the coat pocket. It was wet. The ink had run into the seams of the fabric, bleeding like a bruise. I read it three times. Then I burned it. I am writing this down because my hands are shaking. I cannot hold a cup. I cannot hold a pen. I can only write. My name is Elias Thorne. I was a sergeant. That is all I was. A line of authority. A rule made flesh. I served in the...
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