The Faded Frequency
The mud is thick here. It clings to your boots with a wet, sucking sound, a noise that echoes in the hollow of your skull where the silence used to be. You are running. You are always running. The rain hammers against the tin roof of the abandoned watchtower, a relentless drumming that drowns out your own thoughts, but you can still hear it. The frequency. It is not a sound you hear with your...
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