The Distant Joke

added blog Literature

2026-08-23 06:17:21 -

The Distant Joke

The chisel slipped in your hand, a dull thud against the cobblestone, and the gray dust that rose from the crack smelled of wet ash and old iron. You are Elias, thirty-two years old, and your hands are stained with the residue of the city’s decay, a grime that no amount of scrubbing in the canal water can lift from the whorls of your fingers. It is the year 1347, and the frost has not yet set...

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