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Through a dream of mud, memory, and loss, a veteran revisits the trenches and the friend whose sacrifice still echoes in the silence of Remembrance.

A monologue

To stop, and write no more; ay, there’s the scrape, for in that lack of prose what tales aren’t told.

Turquoise and citrine and gold and ruby… ruby red, crimson red, blood red, red sun, red clouds, red everywhere.