The Distant Joke

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2026-08-20 12:00:32 -

The Distant Joke

The sky splits open not with thunder, but with a sound like tearing cloth. You stand in the mud of the valley, the air thick with the scent of ozone and wet wool. The world above is gone. In its place hangs a gray, endless fog, and within it, shapes drift. They are not clouds. They are faces. They are mouths. They are the eyes of the dead, staring down with a cold, hollow judgment. You are not...

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