The Wistful Dinner

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 03:36:50 -

The fog rolled in thick off the harbor, swallowing the lighthouse beam whole. We were in the cellar of the old cannery, the air heavy with the smell of rust and brine. My name is Arthur. I was twelve years old. The war had been over for three days, but the silence was louder than the bombs. We hid under a table made of iron and wood. The wood was splintered. The iron was cold. My friend, Silas,...

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