The Pale Path

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2026-08-24 09:56:50 -

The Pale Path

The handkerchief was already red when I pulled it from my pocket, the stain spreading across the white cotton like a slow, wet map of my own interior. I stood in the center of the cabin, the floorboards creaking under the weight of my stillness, and watched the blood darken the fabric until it was no longer white at all, but the color of old rust. I was forty-two years old, a border patrol...

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