The Faded Dust
The dust did not settle; it hung, a thick, amber suspension in the air of the bunker, catching the weak light of the single halogen bulb that flickered with the arrhythmic pulse of a failing generator. I sat in the corner, my back against the cold concrete, watching the particulate matter drift past the muzzle of my rifle. It was a beautiful, terrible thing, that stillness. Outside, the war had...
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