The Faded Chronicle
The cold bit through the wool of my greatcoat. I stood alone in the yard. The fog was thick. It tasted of coal and iron. I looked at my hands. They were red. They shook. I had been a soldier for forty years. Now I was an old man. The war was over. But the war lived in my knees. It lived in my teeth. It lived in the silence of the house. I walked to the gate. The iron groaned. A sound like a...
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