The Pale Bonsai
The cell was cold in the way that only stone remembers the winter. I sat on the damp flagstones, my back against the unyielding wall, and watched the single shaft of light from the high window shift its slow, golden crawl across the floor. There was nothing else to do. The silence was not empty; it was heavy, a physical weight that pressed against my eardrums and settled in the hollow of my...
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