The Wistful Letter
The bone is in your mouth. You spit. It lands on the floor. White. Clean. You pick it up. It is your own. A molar. You look at the guard. He holds the rifle. His hand does not shake. "Open," he says. You open. He looks. He nods. "Next one." You are in the Cell. The Cell is white. The walls are smooth. No corners. No shadows. Just light. Always light. You are a prisoner. Or so you think. The...
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