The Distant Machine
October 12, 2023 The paper is thin, flimsy against the grain of the wooden table, smelling faintly of the cheap toner used to print it. I sign my name, the ink drying before the pen lifts, a small black scar on the white field. Outside, the high desert wind strips the last moisture from the air, carrying the scent of dried sage and hot stone into the barracks. I am thirty-four years old, and I...
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