Lee Patton
He woke at three-thirty, after two ceaseless hours of ever-shifting images from the Vietnam series he'd watched at midnight. Relived to have wakened, he went down the blue-black hallway for a glass of water, guided by a bright night light in the distance, but when he reached the kitchen, he was ambushed by a tiny, shrieking, burning person, her skin crinkling and blackening in embers, her white, conical hat afire.
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