June 15, 2017

I imagined myself back with the sad man, wandering tight rooms while holding our loathsome corpse of a child (it did not suck or cry, its eyes were smeared with thick black). The child smelled of death and mold and age. The sad man smelled of what he was—stagnant and crippled and dry. I walked with the corpse child knowing full well I would die here…”

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