The Pale Bonsai
The bonsai tree was dead. It had been dead for three days, though the rot only became visible yesterday. The leaves had turned a shade of brown that mimicked the dried skin of a corpse. I stood in the center of the living room, holding a pair of pruning shears. The metal was cold. My hand was steady. I am a man who has trained his body to be a weapon, then a shield, then a tool. I know the...
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