The Golden Scar
The notice was pinned to the corkboard in the breakroom, its paper yellowed and brittle at the edges. It bore the seal of the Ministry of Civic Debt, a stark red circle that looked like a wound on the beige wall. You read it twice, your fingers hovering over the ink, afraid that touching it might make the words disappear. The date was three days ago. The name at the bottom was yours, or rather,...
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