The Wistful Dinner

added blog Literature

2026-08-24 18:58:20 -

The watch was heavy in my palm, cold as river stone, its face frozen at three-fifteen. I turned it over, feeling the weight of the brass against my skin, a dead thing that should not have been warm. It was my brother’s, taken from his body after the accident, and for three weeks it had ticked forward only when I lied. Now, in the sterile white light of the debriefing room, it sat in my pocket,...

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