The Wistful Witness
The road to the High Court is red. It is made of clay and old blood. You walk. Your feet are bare. The stone is cold. You carry nothing. You are light. You are heavy. The walls of the court are high. They are white. They are blinding. The air smells of dust and ozone. You do not look up. You look at your hands. They are stained. They are gray. You are the stain. You are the dirt. They bring you...
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