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The hospital hallways seemed to stretch interminably and when I turned around, the same could be said of the distance we’d already walked. The walls were a grimy tile that had once been white. The lights were narrowly lined alone the center of the hallway, pitching shadows on the walls and the signs aside each room. I strained my eyes to see where we were. Room 683 or 663 or 883. Our guide continued, unconcerned about the doors or their markings as any indication of where we were headed: room 965. He seemed to know the way without using any of the unnatural features to light the way. Even through stretches of brief darkness, where the broken lights demanded repair, where the souls beyond these doors lacked even the sliver of light that could manifest.

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