The Golden Greenhouse
You wake up in the glass. Not inside it, but composed of it. Your skin has turned to a brittle, translucent green, and your veins run with a liquid that hums at a frequency you can feel in your teeth. This is the dream, the recurring one that has plagued you since the diagnosis, the one where the city of Chicago does not look like a city at all but like a terrarium, a sealed, sterile ecosystem...
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