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Clinton Green, 27 Jun '12

The shadows around them deepened as they entered the room, Wilson stared at the chair, he looked at it like a time bomb, flinching with each tick, Wilson was twitching erratically now, his steady pace of melancholy lost, sweat ran from his brow like warm rain. The perspiration burnt his eyes, he blinked and flinched, and in those blurred moments the chair roared to life. Wilson howled, he clawed at the orderly’s holding him but they just pushed him further into the room, further toward the salivating chair. He tried to fight them, curse them but they never got mad, they just pushed on with their slow tones and dull stares. The whirr of the machine grew louder as Wilson neared, his face wet with tears and sweat, his cries sputtering mercy at the chair.

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