The Pale Bonsai

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 05:48:10 -

The Pale Bonsai

The rain hits the tin roof like gravel. You are holding the branch. It is white. It is dry. It smells of nothing. You stand in the corner of the room. The walls are peeling. Paint curls up like dead skin. The air is thick with the scent of wet wool and old iron. You are a sergeant. You know this. The badge is heavy on your chest. It burns. Across the room, the old man sits. His name is Arthur....

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews