The Distant Wound

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2026-08-22 21:21:46 -

The Distant Wound

The ink was cold against the cuff of my shirt, a wet, heavy stain that smelled of iron and old paper. I looked down at the crack in the wall of my office, a fissure no wider than a pencil lead, weeping a dark, viscous fluid that defied the dry, sterile air of the Bureau. I wiped it on my trousers, the denim already stiff with the day’s labor, and tried to ignore the way the stain darkened,...

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