The Pale Bonsai

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 09:05:58 -

The Pale Bonsai

The house was dying. Not crumbling. Not rotting. Dying. It happened on a Tuesday. The walls sweated black. The floorboards groaned like a man breaking under a weight. You stood in the kitchen. Your wife, Eleanor, stood by the window. She did not look at you. She looked at the tree. The bonsai sat on the sill. Pale. White. Like bone. It was not a tree. It was a mouth. It opened. You are a...

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