The Distant Nightmare
The monitor hums. It is a low, constant frequency. You hear it in your teeth. You feel it in the base of your skull. It is the sound of the institution. It is the sound of order. You sit at the desk. The wood is cold. You wear the grey robe. It is thick. It is heavy. It clings to your shoulders. It is your skin now. You have worn it for three years. It is your identity. It is your shield. Your...
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