The Wistful Dinner

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 17:41:17 -

The soup was cold. It sat in the blue bowl. A thin skin formed on the surface. The clock on the wall ticked. I stared at the liquid. It was dark. Almost black. It smelled of iron. It smelled of earth. I was not human. Not anymore. I had been a baker for forty years. I knew the weight of flour. I knew the heat of the oven. But now, my hands shook. They were thin. The veins stood out like blue...

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