The Pale Door
The fog rolls in from the harbor. It is thick. It is cold. You are alone in the ward. The room is white. The walls are damp. You sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress sags under your weight. You are twelve. You are tired. Your legs hurt. The pain is a dull ache. It lives in your bones. It has been there for weeks. The doctors say it is inflammation. They give you pills. They are blue. They...
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