The Golden Farce
The soup had gone cold in the ceramic bowl, a thick, grey sludge of lentils and root vegetables that sat in the center of the small, windowless room like a monument to neglect. I stared at it. The surface had formed a skin, trembling slightly with each breath I took. It was a food designed for sustenance, for the body, but here it was merely a substance, a thing that had lost its heat and its...
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