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Thirty-Seven

Clara Addas

The wind whistles through the open crack of the window. Nee-na. Nee-na. Nee-na. Nee-na. Nee-na. Nee-na. Ambulance.

And much closer, the beeping sound of machines surround me. My eyebrows pull down in confusion.

Hospital?

My head spins sickeningly.

In my right hand, something odd ...

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