The Distant Wound
You are walking. The road is wet. It is not a road anymore. It is a ribbon of mud and old asphalt, torn by the roots of trees that should not be there. You walk because you must. Your boots are heavy. They are wet to the ankle. The water is cold. It bites. You do not stop. Behind you, the city is gone. Not destroyed. Just gone. The buildings stand, but they are empty. The windows are black...
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