The Wistful Campus
The rain hits the tin roof of the school with a rhythm that feels like a heart attack. You are standing in the hallway, your hand pressed flat against the cold brick. Your knuckles are white. Your skin is tight, stretched over bones that feel too sharp, too angular for the coat you are wearing. You are not a student here. You are the new custodian. Or at least, that is what the ledger says....
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