The Distant Machine
The fog rolled in thick. It swallowed the rails. I wiped the lens. The world vanished. I am writing this from the cold. My hands shake. Not from fear. From the chill. It settles in the bones. It stays there. I took the job because I needed work. I needed distraction. The factory had closed. The men were gone. Only the silence remained. And I, Arthur, remained. I was the inspector. My badge felt...
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