The Pale Garden
October 14, 1998. The wind is not blowing; it is scraping. I have been stationed at Outpost 4 for six months, and in that time, I have filed fourteen reports regarding the anomaly in Sector 7. The Bureau calls it a localized weather distortion, a glitch in the atmospheric sensors. I call it the Pale Garden. I am thirty-four years old. My knees ache when the barometric pressure drops, a pain...
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