The Distant Joke

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 22:55:07 -

The Distant Joke

The rain had turned the mud of the main street into a slurry that sucked at our boots, a viscous, brown paste that smelled of wet wool and iron. I stood at the end of the line, my uniform damp and heavy, watching the men file past the makeshift tribunal set up in the town square. It was a cold November afternoon in Harrow’s Gap, a mining town that had forgotten how to smile since the coal ran...

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