The Distant Journey
The mud was thick. It sucked at my boots. I was bleeding from the nose. The rain was cold. It stung my eyes. I held my rifle loose. My hands shook. The forest was dark. The trees were black shapes. They leaned against the sky. The sky was gray. It was endless. I walked. I did not run. Running was for men who expected to live. I did not expect to live. I heard a snap. A twig. It was behind me. I...
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