The Distant Joke

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 15:33:55 -

The Distant Joke

The dream was not of fire. It was of roots. Caleb Vane woke with his hand buried in the earth of a garden he did not own. The soil was cold, wet, and impossibly dark. It clung to his fingers, sucking the warmth from his skin. He pulled his hand back. The dirt fell away in clumps, leaving his palm stained black. He sat up on the edge of the cot in the small, rented room above the bakery in...

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