The Distant Wound

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 23:00:06 -

The Distant Wound

The air tasted of copper. We lived in the Spire. It was a tower of black iron. It pierced the gray sky. We did not go out. We did not see the sun. We only worked. I was young. I was small. My hands were steady. This was good. Steady hands were required. My name was Thomas. I do not recall who named me. It did not matter. Names were labels. Labels were for the dead. We were the living. We were...

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