The Distant Affair
You dream of the bread. It is white. Blindingly white. It rises in the dark of the cellar, swelling against the stone walls. You do not knead it. You do not feed it. It simply grows. It eats the light. You wake with the taste of flour on your tongue. Dry. Chalky. You are in your cell. The damp stone presses against your back. You are a warrior. Or you were. Now you are just meat in a cage. The...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare