The Distant Nightmare
The banquet hall in the administrative wing of the St. Jude’s Asylum for the Mentally Infirm smelled of boiled cabbage and stale lavender, a scent that had permeated the very plaster of the walls over the last three decades. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday; the days in this institution had lost their distinct edges, blending into a grey, viscous stream where time was measured not by...
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