The Faded Shield
The badge sits on the desk. It is brass. It is heavy. It does not shine. I look at it. I have looked at it for three days. It is the only thing in the room that is real. The walls are white. The light is gray. The air is still. I am Edward Ashworth. I am a detective. Or I was. The distinction matters less now. The object remains. It is a shield. It is faded. It is mine. It is not mine. I am in...
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