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Weekly Contest #289
(Trigger warning: this short story observes the nature of late stage Dementia, whilst there is nothing graphic described, some may find the subject matter upsetting. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy) The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. A strange man stares at me through the screen. He reads from neatly stacked sheets of parchment, tapping them upon his desk sporadically as they lose their shape and file. An amorphous blob of beige sits before me, a spoon lies suggestively beside it. Whose clothes are these? It’s light out, ...
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