The Golden Scar
The golden cast was warm. That was the first thing I noticed, a low-grade fever radiating from my left hand, fused to the bone since the morning’s Aesthetic Correction. I sat on the edge of my cot in the Ministry dormitory, the sterile white sheets damp with sweat, and stared at the gleaming surface. It caught the fluorescent light, blindingly bright, a perfect, immutable ornament. I tried to...
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