The Wistful Asylum
The incinerator at St. Jude’s Psychiatric Institute did not merely consume matter; it digested it, grinding the organic and the inorganic into a fine, gray powder that settled on the windowsills of the administrative wing like a quiet, indifferent snow. It was a Tuesday in late November, the kind of day where the sky hung low and heavy, pressing its thumb against the glass, and the smell of...
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