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A recorded reading of “The Sigma Attached”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
I cross the bare ground with hope's burden on my back; let my anguish loose upon these unlit shores. Empty hollows fill with doubt. Somewhere, a sigma clings— the self-hating mark I cannot detach from myself. The pillars of the façade fade into dust, then gather as a ruin, congealed in the slush of hate. Traction leaves me. Still, I stay: a jester in the wreckage, bowing to my own small tyranny.
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