The Pale Bonsai
The moss on the windowsill has been growing sideways for three days. You know this because you have not touched it, and yet it has expanded, creeping over the glass with a slow, wet intention that feels less like biology and more like a verdict. You sit in the chair by the window, the one with the broken leg propped up on a stack of encyclopedias, and you watch the green smear itself against...
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