The Distant Garden
I woke with the taste of iron and ash on my tongue, the metallic tang of a mouthful of blood that had not yet been swallowed, settling into a dream where the walls of my cell were breathing. It was a rhythmic, wet inhalation and exhalation, the drywall and the rusted iron bars expanding and contracting like the ribs of a great, dying beast. I lay on the thin mattress, my hands cuffed behind my...
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