The Distant Whispers
The letter from the Bureau of Veterans’ Affairs lay on the kitchen table, its edges soft from handling, the ink a dry, dusty black that smelled faintly of iron and old paper. Elias Thorne held the envelope in his left hand, his right resting on the table’s rough wood, fingers curled into a fist that trembled with a rhythm unrelated to his heartbeat. He read the rejection again, the words...
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