The Wistful Asylum
The hammer struck the nail with a sound like a bone breaking. Arthur stared at the wall. The drywall was white. It was supposed to be white. He had chosen the shade himself. Snow White, zero percent yellow. It was a neutral color. It was a safe color. The nail had bent. He pulled it out. The metal was hot. He could smell the dust. It tasted like old pennies. "Arthur?" He did not turn around. He...
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