The Wistful Mountain
You wake in the rain. The water is cold. It bites. You are naked. The sheets are wet. They cling to your skin like a second, heavier body. You are a ghost in your own bed. Or perhaps you are the ghost. It is hard to tell. The room is dark. The city outside is loud. Sirens wail. Tires hiss on wet asphalt. The sound is a constant hum. It vibrates in your teeth. You sit up. Your head hurts. A dull...
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