The Pale Meridian

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2026-08-19 01:14:17 -

The Pale Meridian

I dreamt of the water. Not the blue of a postcard, nor the clear glass of a mountain stream. It was black. It was thick. It smelled of rust and old pennies. I woke with the taste of iron on my tongue. The room was cold. The heater had clicked off an hour ago. I sat up. The sheets were tangled around my legs like weeds. My name is Arthur. I am a restorer of clocks. I live in a small shop on the...

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