The Pale Bonsai
The silence in the bunker is not an absence of sound but a heavy, physical thing, a thick gray wool that wraps around your skull and presses down on your eardrums until you feel your bones creaking under the weight of the air that refuses to move. You sit on the cold concrete floor, your back against the damp wall where the water has seeped through the mortar in a thin, weeping line, and you...
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