The Distant Garden

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 05:56:28 -

The rain had stopped. The air tasted of rust and wet wool. I sat in the chair. My back was against the wall. The wall was cold. It was a concrete block. It was solid. It was final. I looked at the door. The handle was brass. It was tarnished. I did not touch it. I watched the dust motes dance in the gray light. They were tiny. They were free. They were not me. I was a soldier. I was a guard. I...

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