The Golden Greenhouse
You are bleeding. The blood is thick. It tastes like copper and old pennies. You hold your side. The pain is a white heat, a hammer blow that resets your bones. You do not look up. You look at the floor. The marble is cold. It is black and white. It is clean. "Get up," says the voice. You do not get up. You cannot. Your legs are water. Your mind is glass. "Get up, Sergeant." The voice is flat....
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