The Wistful Campus
The dream was cold. It was a slab of ice that cut through the chest. Marcus lay in the cot. The sheets were thin. He did not sleep. He watched the dust motes dance in the pale light. They moved slowly. They moved with intent. He sat up. The room was small. The walls were white. The air was stale. He looked at the mirror. The face in the glass was not his. It was older. The eyes were deep. The...
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