The Wistful Saga

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2026-08-18 03:02:05 -

The Wistful Saga

The fern was dying. I watched it from my desk. The fronds curled inward. Brown tips. Brittle. Like dried leaves. I held the pot. It was heavy. The soil was dry. Dusty. I had watered it. Every day. For months. It did not care. It withered. My name is Thomas. I work in the Archives. Basement level. Fluorescent lights. Buzzing. A constant hum. It gets into the teeth. Into the mind. I sort papers....

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