The Pale Bonsai
The coat was red. Not the red of fire. Not the red of blood. It was a flat, matte crimson. Like dried clay. Like a wound that had stopped bleeding. I wore it every day. It fit me perfectly. Too perfectly. The collar sat high. It chafed my throat. I ignored the itch. The itch was a warning. I ignored it. I am a clerk. My name is Elias. I work in the Department of Administrative Harmony. The...
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