The Golden Scar
I am writing this from the empty space where my hands used to be, looking back at the noon heat that broke me. The sun over Bangalore was a physical weight, pressing the karst towers into the floodwaters, making the air thick enough to chew. I was forty-five, a Senior Enforcement Officer, and I wanted only the pension. I wanted to retire before the next physical exam, before the Ink mutated...
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