The Distant Cartograph
The mercury trembled in the glass, a fine, silver vein of life suspended in the cold, and I watched it with the particular, detached curiosity of a man who has long since ceased to expect the world to behave according to any moral compass he might have once trusted, my own fingers wrapped tightly around the brass rim of the instrument, feeling the bite of the metal against the skin, a sensation...
0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews