The Wistful Campus
The vial was warm in your palm, the glass slick with the sweat of your hand as you pressed it against the bridge of your nose to steady your breathing. You were kneeling in the red dirt, the wind whipping the hem of your uniform, the silence of the high desert pressing against your eardrums like a physical weight. Your heart hammered a frantic, arrhythmic beat, a bird trapped in a cage of ribs,...
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