The Wistful Mirror
Did you ever wonder why the walls bleed? I woke with ash in my throat, the uniform gone, just grey flakes on the linoleum. It was the third time this week. I checked the clock. 4:00 AM. The frost had come early, biting through the window frame of my room on forty-seven of the Bellfounders' Walk. I needed six more days to clear my mother’s medical debt, but the camp’s reality was fraying. The...
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