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Weekly Contest #341
I slowly walked through the doorway leading into my Martha’s room. The afternoon sunlight was peeking through the yellowed blinds and causing hazy shadows to dance across the cold tile floor. My nose tingled from the sharp smell of disinfectant used to sterilize the room. My eyes drifted to the bed where she lay covered to her chest in crisp white sheets and her favorite pink afghan draped across her feet. I remember the long hours she spent crocheting that afghan and how proud of herself she was when she finished it. It brought a sweet smil...
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