The Wistful Atlas
I woke with the taste of ash in my mouth. It was cold. The air bit through my shirt. I lay on the grass. It was wet. My name is Thomas. I remember that. I do not remember why I am here. I do not remember how I got here. I sat up. My head throbbed. A dull, heavy pain. Like a stone behind my eyes. I looked around. There was nothing. Just grass. And trees. And a grey sky. It was a field. A large,...
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