The Golden Visit
The blade bites deep. It does not stop. It sinks into the meat of your forearm, into the white bone beneath, and you feel the cold shock of it travel up to your shoulder, a jagged line of ice in the summer heat. You do not cry out. You have been taught that pain is a sound you make for the enemy, and the enemy is not here. The enemy is in the head of the boy standing over you. The enemy is in...
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