The Distant Wound

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2026-08-23 02:34:57 -

The Distant Wound

The leather of the notebook in my hands was cracked and dry, the spine giving way with a sound like a small bone snapping, and I held it open to the page where the ink had bled into a dark, weeping stain that looked less like writing and more like a wound. It is November 14th, 1912, and the wind off the harbor is cutting through the wool of my coat, biting at the gaps in my fingers, while the...

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