The Faded Apartment
The dream was always the same, a sterile white room where the air tasted of copper and antiseptic, and in the center of the floor lay a single, unpeeled lemon, its rind so bright it seemed to emit its own cold light. I woke with the taste of acid on my tongue, the phantom weight of the citrus still pressing against my palm, and the distant, rhythmic thumping of the city outside my window. It...
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