The Wistful Show
The order slip lay on the stainless-steel tray, the ink smeared by the humidity of the basement, listing the morning’s dosage for Bed Four: two drams of the black syrup, administered at 0800 and 1600, with a note in the margin that read *Monitor for agitation*. Elias read it twice, his thumb rubbing the edge of the paper until it felt soft, then folded it into a small square and tucked it into...
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