The Wistful Petal

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 09:33:58 -

The Wistful Petal

The soup is cold. It sits in a chipped bowl, a grey sludge that smells of boiled turnip and regret. You stir it. The spoon clinks against the ceramic, a small, sharp sound in the vast silence of the room. Outside, the rain hits the corrugated roof of the shack. It sounds like static. Like the world is being erased. You are not supposed to be here. You are a thing of the margins, a glitch in the...

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