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Day Thirteen: Searing

Why are you here?


War.


Which one?


Take your pick.


Behind the first there are a countless number. Maybe millions. Lined up, gear on, ready to go. As far as I can see and still not see - to the edge of light, and beyond, to the unseeable dark mass at the furthest reaches of wherever it is that we are.

How did you come to be here?


Gun wound.


But that is not fire, someone protests.


All war is fire.


Many around the circle nod. In agreement. In understanding.

We look closely at their uniforms, singed and seared at the collars and the cuffs. Small holes in the fabric where shrapnel has penetrated and embers have fallen. In the queue many wear gas masks.


You don’t need those here, someone points out.


Maybe they do, says another.


Why are you here?


Yes, why are you here?


For him, says the First. He points at me.

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