The Distant Wound
"You will not go back." The voice is not yours. It is the voice of the air in the room. It is the voice of the glass walls. I stand. My legs shake. The floor is cold. It is metal. It is always metal. "Do you hear me, Elias?" I look at you. You are not there. You are a memory. You are a ghost in the machine. "I hear you," I say. My voice is thin. It scrapes against the silence. "Then you will...
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