The Distant Wound
The scar was new. It pulsed. A red vein under pale skin. Maren touched it. The skin stretched. It hurt. She stood in the queue. The line moved. Slow. Sticky air. The room smelled of bleach. And old sweat. Fluorescent lights buzzed. A low hum. In the teeth. Maren was quiet. She watched the hands of others. Clenched. Loose. Shaking. They held papers. Folded. Creased. Official. She held her own....
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