The Faded Dust

added blog Literature

2026-08-17 22:12:16 -

The Faded Dust

The fire started in the clock tower. It did not roar. It whispered. A thin, blue tongue of flame licked the gears. I watched it from the gallery. The air smelled of hot brass. I am a clerk. I record things. That is my duty. I sit in a room with no windows. The light comes from a lamp. It is yellow. It is sick. My name is Arthur. I do not care for my name. It is a label. A tag on a box. The...

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