The Golden Scar
The bell rang at six. It always rang at six. A sharp, metallic shriek that cut through the fog and settled into our bones. I stood in the mud. My boots were heavy. The leather was stiff. It had been stiff for a year. "Stand straight, boy," said Mr. Aldous. He stood on the platform. His coat was brown. It was clean. Too clean. The mud did not touch him. It never did. I straightened my back. It...
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