The world must appear strange as you peer through our hero’s eyes. Your eyes now.
Fiction
The manner of my demise is of little interest, besides serving as our jumping off point.
I had a kind of premonition, even before a word was said, that things were about to shift.
Unrelenting snow, bottomless drinks, unexpected acquaintances, and strange sights.
They were no longer comrades, but post-conflict combatants. The war is over, he said, a phrase he would keep repeating throughout the day without emotion. It’s over.
Today I heard five Shakespearean insults walking along the corridor, and if I hear one more, it will be a good day, an even day.
Pagination
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