The Wistful Voyage
You are standing in the corridor. The linoleum is cold. It is blue. It is worn thin by years of scuffing. You feel the chill through your shoes. Your knees ache. They always ache now. The pain is a dull, persistent hum. It lives in the joint. It lives in the bone. It is a constant companion. "Can I help you, Sister?" The voice is sharp. It is thin. It cuts the air. You turn. Sister Agnes stands...
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