The Distant Joke

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2026-08-20 18:11:14 -

The Distant Joke

The air in the bunker tasted of copper and stale tobacco, a metallic tang that coated the back of my throat and refused to be washed away. We sat in the gloom of the trench, the earth pressing in from all sides, heavy and damp, as if the ground itself were holding its breath in anticipation of the end. I watched my hands, calloused and trembling slightly, as I cleaned the bolt of my rifle. The...

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