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A recorded reading of “Small Animals at Three”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
At three in the morning the ceiling develops pupils. Small coloured animals gather there, each one carrying a different kind of quiet. They do not ask for an explanation. One lowers the volume of the room. Another presses the panic flat and slides it under the bed. I have mistaken speed for rescue. Tonight a green creature lifts one translucent paw: not yet, it says without a mouth. Outside, the city keeps missing its exits. Inside, a soft electrical choir teaches the dark to make room. By dawn the creatures are gone. Only a pale mark remains on the wall, like a door deciding to stay open.
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