The Wistful Witness

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 20:50:36 -

I dreamed of bread. Not the whole loaves from the bakery. Slices. Thin, pale slices. Stacked high on a white plate. The knife was red. My father’s knife. It did not cut. It only hummed. I woke with my mouth full of flour. The taste was chalky. Dry. I spat it out. The office was cold. It was the Ministry of Public Welfare. A place of marble and whispers. We sat in high-backed chairs. We wore...

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