The Golden Song
The letter sat on the table, its paper soft and worn at the edges from where I had turned it over and over in my hands. It was a standard Bureau form, the kind they use for reassignments, but the font was different, smaller, tighter. My name, Elias Thorne, was printed at the top in bold. Below it, a date. Then the words: Case Closed. Transfer to Central Psychiatric Evaluation. I stared at the...
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