A GRAVE ALREADY DUG

KHONG'S POV (Age 25, Year 1935)

I was a ghost. A hollowed-out thing, lying on a slab of cold stone.

The women had left. Their ritualistic, cold scent of bitter herbs still clung to the air, a greasy film over the ever-present stench of mildew. My body ached, a familiar, dull throb from being u...

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