The Faded Dust
The dream was always the same, a suffocating immersion in dry, gray powder that did not behave like dust but rather like a liquid, filling Elias Thorne’s lungs until he could not draw breath, the granules grinding against his alveoli with the precise, mechanical friction of a machine grinding bone. He woke with a gasp, his hands white-knuckled on the cold iron of his bunk in the administrative...
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