The Distant Blade

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2026-08-20 03:50:43 -

The Distant Blade

The soup was cold when I finally lifted the spoon, a thick, grey slurry that smelled of boiled wool and stagnant air. I sat at the edge of the cot in Cell 4, the concrete biting into my thighs, and watched the liquid tremble in the bowl as my hands shook. It was not a meal; it was a ration, a chemical necessity dispensed by the State to keep the vessel functional. I did not eat it. I never did....

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