The Faded River
The river is a wire. It hums. You hold the scope. Glass and brass. Cold. Your breath fogs the lens. You are in the tower. The institution. The concrete box that smells of damp and old paper. You are the watcher. The eye that does not blink. The river below is not water. It is a circuit. Blue light. Pulsing. It moves too fast. It moves like a heartbeat. It moves like a scream. You are not a...
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