The Faded Dust

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2026-08-20 06:10:06 -

The Faded Dust

The bread was warm. I held it in my hands, the yeast still rising, the crust cracking under my thumb. It smelled of honey and iron. I was in a room with no windows. The walls were made of white stone, smooth as bone. I broke the loaf. The crumb was tight, dense. I ate. It tasted of nothing. It tasted of everything. I had been a soldier before the crossing. I knew the weight of a rifle. I knew...

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