The Wistful Campus
The smell of burnt toast woke him. It was thick, acrid, and tasted like copper on the back of his tongue. Elias sat up in the narrow bed. The room was a box. Four walls. One window. The glass was fogged with the cold outside. He rubbed his eyes. His hands were dry. They were always dry now. He looked at the tray on the nightstand. Two slices of toast. Black on one side. Grey on the other. A cup...
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