The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-21 11:34:02 -

The Wistful Petal

The rain struck the corrugated roof of the intake tent in a steady, rhythmic percussion. It was a sound I had come to associate with the dissolution of order. Outside, the mud of the valley churned into a slick, brown paste that swallowed the boots of the men waiting in line. I sat on a folding chair, my hands resting on my knees. My uniform was stiff. The wool chafed against my neck. I felt...

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