The Pale Bonsai
You wake up with the taste of iron in your mouth. It is a bright, sharp taste. It is not blood. It is the smell of the rusted fence outside. You are in the kitchen. The floor is cold. It is a tile floor. It is white. It is cracked down the middle. The crack runs from the sink to the door. You stand on the crack. You feel the gap under your feet. It is a small void. It is a big thing. You look...
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