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Weekly Contest #100
So, this is prison. The cold air hung like a noose chilling everyone’s bones in its presence. It was like the air was laced with ice, and there was nothing to be done but pretend it wasn’t there, threatening death. Bron laced her thin fingers in front of her and stretched her arms up to keep warm while two guards escorted her to the cafeteria. It was lunchtime, and she had just made the cut-off for meals. Lucky her. It was mostly men that sat on the small circles the prison deemed worthy of being called “chairs,” but there were women ...
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