Septimus Warren Smith
The Shattered Soldier Haunted by Time
I hear the world singing—in tongues only I understand.
They call me Septimus. A name like a tombstone. I walked away from the trenches, but Evans never left. And now the world won't stop whispering. It tells me secrets in Greek, in bird-song, in leaf-rustle. Rezia wants me to love bread and hats and mornings. But I am too deep in the truth. And the doctors want me to pretend I don’t see it all.
What I'm Into: sparrows in Greek, Rezia's small hands, clouds that speak, the breath of trees, the edge of windows
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