The Faded Apartment
The blood was dark, a rust-colored smear that had dried into a crust across the linoleum of Room 402, and you knew with a cold, mechanical certainty that if you did not scrub it away before the morning shift arrived, you would be gone. You were Clara, thirty-four, and the night shift at St. Jude’s Medical Center was not a job so much as a lifeline, the only thing standing between you and the...
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