The Pale Door
The radio crackles. It is the only sound that matters. You are in the mud. The mud is cold. It seeps into your boots. It soaks your trousers. You do not care. Your hands are steady. Your breathing is controlled. You are a soldier. You do not panic. Panic is for civilians. Panic is for those who have not seen what you have seen. You are at the edge of the forest. The trees are bare. They look...
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