The Wistful Show
The termination notice lay on the steel desk, the paper so thin it felt like a sheet of dried skin, and Elias Thorne read the words for the third time, his eyes tracing the bureaucratic syntax that stripped him of his tenure, his pension, and his name, all before the ink had fully dried on the form. The date was stamped in red, three days hence, when the funding for the Meridian Institute’s...
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