The Golden Maze
The air in the atrium of St. Jude’s Correctional for Juvenile Delinquents tastes of rust and stale lavender, a scent so pervasive it feels less like perfume and more like a physical weight pressing against the backs of your eyelids. You stand at the center of the circular hall, your hands bound behind your back with strips of canvas that have begun to chafe the skin into raw, weeping maps of...
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