The Wistful Petal

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 12:51:23 -

The Wistful Petal

The dream starts with your hands. They are long. Too long. The fingers stretch like taffy, pulling away from the knuckles, thinning into wire. You try to clench them. They do not close. They hang limp, swaying in a wind that has no source. You look down at your wrists. They are wrapped in white cloth. Not bandages. Gauze. Fresh and damp. The scent is sharp. Chlorine. Antiseptic. It burns your...

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