The Wistful Petal

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 09:54:46 -

The Wistful Petal

The train smelled of coal dust and wet wool. I pressed my forehead against the cold glass. The countryside blurred. Gray fields. Bare trees. The sky low and heavy. My name is Arthur. I was a clerk. I handled the ledgers. I balanced the books. I was good at numbers. Numbers did not lie. They did not age. They did not die. In my pocket, I held the seal. It was a small thing. Brass. Worn smooth by...

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