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Writer's pictureMarissa McCallam

Beep


And then there was the beep.

Slightly out of time, confirming the existence of another heart in a different room.

The fluorescent lights convincing us of perpetual daylight.

No windows, no clocks.

Just time passing indicated by intermittent visits of another weary professional.

Beep.

A blood stain on the floor, missed by a disinfected mop.

Beep.

A paper curtain imitating privacy.

Beep.

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