The Faded Root
You hold the spoon. It is bent. Not broken. Bent. It looks like a question mark that has given up on asking anything. You wrap it in your napkin. The cloth is white. Stiff. It smells of bleach and old dust. You are in the kitchen. It is a small room. The walls are yellow. The light is gray. Outside, the rain hits the glass. It sounds like teeth clicking. You are here to fix it. Or so you...
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