The Golden Maze
You count the pills. They are white. Round. Smooth as river stones. You count them every night. Thirty. Always thirty. The bottle is plastic. It is heavy in your hand. The cap is tight. You twist it. It resists. You twist again. It gives. The sound is a sharp crack. Like a small bone breaking. You pour them out. They roll across the table. Clack. Clack. Clack. They land on the wood. They stop....
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