The Distant Affair
The mud is not merely wet; it is a living, sucking mouth that tries to pull you down into the earth’s cold belly, and you are fighting for your breath, for the simple right to stand, while the rain hammers against the back of your neck like a thousand tiny fists. You are not a hero in this moment, nor are you a villain, but a body, a wet and shivering collection of bones and muscle, trapped in...
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