The Wistful Petal

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 08:29:24 -

The Wistful Petal

The taste is copper. Then salt. Then the bitter, chalky dust of old plaster. I wake in the chair. The room is white. Blinding white. The walls hum. A low, 60-hertz thrum that vibrates in my teeth. I am in the intake cell. Unit 4. The door is steel. It is closed. I am not in pain. I am in the chair. My hands are cuffed. The cuffs are tight. I look down. I am wearing a grey jumpsuit. It smells of...

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