The Golden Myth

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 05:56:24 -

The Golden Myth

The fog did not lift. It thickened. I sat on the edge of the cot in the white room. The walls were not stone. They were not wood. They were a pale, shifting mist that breathed against my skin. I am a sergeant. I have served in the trenches of Ypres and the mud of Passchendaele. I know the smell of cordite and rot. I do not know this place. There is no door. There is no window. There is only the...

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