The Wistful Asylum
The alarm bell screams. It is a wet, tearing sound. It rips the night open. You are awake before your body moves. Your hands find the iron bars. They are cold. They are always cold. You pull. Your shoulders burn. The muscle fibers in your back snap tight. You are a machine made of bone and rust. You pull until your vision blurs. The bars do not bend. They never do. The door opens. Light floods...
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