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Beneath the Snake Pit |
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Sometimes the way
out is fraught with treachery. Within these dark cellars,
a struggle towards the light, the promise of release
and wholesomeness, may well prove futile. A glimpse
of sun rooms on the upper floors may tempt, until,
like nymphs changing into toothless hags, they suddenly
bare their perforated floors. The boards above the
basement are randomly collapsed; a wrong step can cripple
or kill. The stairs themselves are a moist cardboard
illusion of stability.
This hospital is corrupt. It gathers the last visitors in its bowels, warms them with carpets of mold, soothes them with the geometry of never-ending corridors. The brick, moist with rot, has withstood so many decades. No need to risk a flight outside. Life creeps by so much more slowly down below.
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