The Golden Maze
The iron is cold. It sits in your hand. It is heavy. It is wrong. You do not want to hold it. You want to throw it into the river. But you keep it. You keep it close to your chest. You are walking. The road is long. The fog is thick. It eats the world. You cannot see the trees. You cannot see the end. You are a soldier. You are a man. You are afraid. Who are you? You ask yourself. You do not...
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