The Distant Garden
We are all, in the end, merely vessels waiting to be filled, or perhaps emptied, by the whims of those who hold the keys to our reality, and I have spent the better part of my thirty-four years in the windowless, fluorescent-lit offices of the Ministry of Nutritional Compliance, a place where the air is always recycled through a filter that tastes faintly of copper and despair, where the walls...
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