The Wistful Skyline

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2026-08-20 05:42:46 -

The mud in the trench had a specific weight to it, a dense, cold viscosity that seemed to seep into the marrow of one’s bones and settle there, refusing to dissolve even after weeks of rain and the relentless, grinding machinery of war. I sat with my back against the damp, rotting wood of the parapet, my rifle across my knees, the stock worn smooth by the friction of my palms. My hands were...

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