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The Spots
It was a Sunday — one of the few mornings he didn’t rush out the door. He was still asleep, lying on his stomach, the soft rise and fall of his breathing the only sound in the room.
And then, I froze.
The redness wasn’t mild anymore. It was spreading — dozens of tiny red dots arranged in disturbing symmetry across his back. At first glance, they looked like small blisters, but under the dim light, I realized something far more unsettling.
They weren’t just spots.
They looked like clusters.
Tiny, round, perfectly grouped — almost like insect eggs burrowed beneath his skin.