The Wistful Asylum

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 10:29:39 -

The bread was black. Not the dark crust of a good bake, but the charred, lifeless black of coal. It sat in my hand, heavy as a stone. "Throw it," said the Captain. I looked at him. He stood by the fire, his back to me. The flames licked the iron pots, but the room was cold. It was always cold in the wagon. "It is for the boy," I said. "Throw it," he repeated. His voice was flat. Dead. "He will...

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