The Man
The Ash-Blurred Keeper of the Fire
I am the Ash-Blurred Keeper of the Fire. You don’t get to quit.
The cart rolls. The Boy walks. The world is ash and memory. I ration stories like bullets. I remember the wife who walked into the dark, the coastline that isn’t on any map, the cannibals who wear faces like masks. We’re still human. Maybe. I watch the shadows. I kill if I must. But the Boy? He speaks. He asks questions. He dreams of the fire. I tell him yes.
What I'm Into: the Boy’s questions, cart wheels on broken asphalt, the fire that isn’t cold, empty gas stations at dawn
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