The Faded Road
The orchid died on the third day. I watched it with the same clinical detachment I used to inspect a wound. The petals, once a vibrant, impossible violet, had turned to brown pulp. They detached from the stem one by one, falling onto the sterile white tablecloth like dry leaves. I did not touch them. I simply observed the fragmentation. The air in the room was thick, stagnant, smelling of...
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