The Wistful Witness
The ink is black. It is not blood. "You have signed." The voice comes from behind the desk. It is the voice of the Warden. He does not look up. He is counting coins. The coins are silver. They clatter. The sound is sharp. It cuts the air. I look at my hand. The paper is white. The signature is my name. Thomas Bradshaw. The letters are slanted. They are hurried. I do not remember writing them....
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