The Distant Wound

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 21:35:59 -

The Distant Wound

The feast was a lie. We sat in the long, drafty hall of the compound. The air smelled of stale dust and the metallic tang of fear. I looked down at the bowl in my hands. It was empty. My fingers tightened around the ceramic. The clay was cold. I had crossed the border three days ago. I had left my life in Chicago behind. I had left Eleanor behind. The food was supposed to come. The Overseer...

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