The Faded Portrait

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 06:06:34 -

The wind cut. It bit through the wool. Through the skin. I walked. My feet hurt. The road was dirt. It was gray. It was endless. Behind me, the town burned. Not with fire. With silence. My father walked beside me. He did not look at me. He looked ahead. His eyes were white. They were blind. The disease took them. It took his will. He held my hand. His grip was iron. Cold. We were leaving. We...

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