The Wistful Dinner
The bird died on the sill of the window in the detention room, a sparrow with its wings folded so tightly against its body that it looked less like a creature of flight and more like a crumpled piece of brown parchment that someone had discarded in a hasty moment of anger. It was a small thing, fragile and dry, and it lay there in the gray light that filtered through the bars, unmoving, its...
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