The Distant Wound

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 09:56:19 -

The Distant Wound

The train left before the sun cleared the grey ridge. I stood on the platform, my uniform pressed tight against a chest that no longer felt like my own. The air smelled of coal dust and wet iron. Behind me, the stationmaster watched with eyes that held the dull, flat patience of a man who had seen a thousand departures and mourned none. He was a witness to the machinery of the state, a gear...

0 Comments 0 Shares 15 Views 0 Reviews