The Pale Bonsai
You return to the house on Harrow Lane not because you wish to, but because the map in your mind has begun to bleed, the ink of your past dissolving into a viscous, grey sludge that refuses to settle, forcing you to drive the sedan through the autumn mist with the heater blasting until the glass fogs over and the world outside becomes a blurred, indistinct smear of ochre and charcoal, a...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews