The Wistful Grid

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2026-08-24 00:33:42 -

The Wistful Grid

The mud outside the trench had turned to a thick, sucking paste by the time I finished counting the rations. Twelve hardtack biscuits, six tins of beef, and a single, dented canteen. I weighed the canteen in my hand, feeling the cold seep through the leather, a cold that had nothing to do with the air temperature. It was the cold of the stone wall that rose ten feet above our heads, a wall that...

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