The Faded Dust
The road was white. It stretched out like a bone laid bare by the wind. Elias walked. His boots were heavy. The leather was cracked. The dust entered his shoes. It entered his soul. He did not stop. He could not stop. Behind him, the village burned. It was not a fire of wood. It was a fire of memory. It consumed the names of the dead. It consumed the shape of the past. Elias carried a jar. It...
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