The Faded River
The rain against the stained glass of St. Jude’s Infirmary was a rhythmic, percussive accusation, tapping out a morse code of guilt that I had long ceased to translate, and as I stood at the threshold of Ward Four, my hands trembling not from the cold but from the sheer, crushing weight of the institution that had swallowed me whole, I realized that I was no longer the man who had walked in...
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