The Distant Wound

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2026-08-23 01:54:44 -

The Distant Wound

March 14, 1924. I counted the sacks of flour in the Ministry warehouse. One, two, three. The scales were rusted, and the needle trembled like a bird on a wire. I weighed forty pounds of grain. I weighed forty more. My hands smelled of chalk dust and old sweat. I am forty-two years old. I am a clerk in the Ministry of Rationing. My job is to ensure that the state’s resources are distributed with...

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