The Golden Scar
The paper was thin, almost translucent, the kind of stock that felt like skin under your fingertips. You held it up to the fluorescent tube that hummed above your desk, a sound that had burrowed into your molars over the last three years, and watched the ink bleed slightly at the edges. It was a petition for "excessive grief," filed by a citizen in District Four, and the signature line was...
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