The Distant Ghost

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2026-08-22 19:27:36 -

The Distant Ghost

The tin cup in my hand was heavy, the dented rim cutting a thin, bright line into my lower lip as I held it up to the firelight. We were celebrating survival, or so the men called it, a feast of stolen tinned beef and half-empty bottles of rye that smelled of turpentine and old sweat, the canvas walls of our tent vibrating with the low, drunk roar of thirty men who had walked out of the mud...

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