The Pale Bonsai
The fluorescent lights in the sub-basement of the St. Jude’s Rehabilitation Center hummed with a frequency that you could feel in your molars, a low, vibrating thrum that seemed to synchronize with the slow, painful dilation of your pupils. You were sitting on the edge of the examination table, the cold vinyl pressing against the backs of your knees, while Dr. Aris, whose name tag had been...
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