The Wistful Witness

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2026-08-19 21:41:05 -

The rain did not fall. It stood. I remember the weight of it. Not the wet. The heavy, gray air that pressed against my chest like a hand. I was a man then. A soldier. Or so the papers said. My name was Elias Thorne. I carried a rifle. I carried a duty. I carried a silence that grew louder with every step. The camp was not a place. It was a state of being. A loop. We marched. We stopped. We...

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