The Pale Bonsai

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 23:03:43 -

The Pale Bonsai

The room smelled of expensive perfume and old dust. Margaret stood by the window. She watched the rain. It fell in sheets. Gray. Heavy. Her son, Arthur, sat in the center of the room. He was eating cake. "Is it good?" he asked. "It is," she said. "It is not," he said. "It is dry." Margaret looked at him. He was twenty-two. He looked older. He looked tired. "Who baked it?" she asked. "I did."...

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