The Pale Bonsai

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 10:17:10 -

The Pale Bonsai

The train smelled of wet wool and rust. I pressed my forehead against the cold glass, watching the English countryside blur into a grey smear of hedgerows and barns. I was coming home, but the word felt foreign in my mouth, like a stone that didn’t fit. I had been away for three years. The uniform I wore was crisp, the buttons polished to a mirror shine, but beneath the wool, my skin felt...

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