The Distant Ghost
The iron lung hissed and clicked in the sub-basement of the St. Jude’s Asylum for the Incurably Insane, a rhythmic, mechanical breathing that had replaced the natural cadence of my own existence since the winter of 1924, when the fog rolled in thick as wool and the doctors decided that my soul had become too heavy for the vessel of my body to carry without assistance. I lie here in the dark,...
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