The Distant Journey
The wind tore at my coat. I did not care. I was fighting for my life. The city was a beast. It breathed cold. It bit. I walked. My feet bled. I did not look down. To look down was to admit defeat. I am a scholar of insects. I know the ant. I know its purpose. I am no ant. I am the storm. My name is Arthur. I am dying. The doctors said so. They are liars. They are soft. They sit in warm rooms...
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