The Distant Journey

bir ses eklendi Literature

2026-08-21 09:54:00 -

The bees are dead. I watch them float. White wings. Still air. They hit the glass. Thud. Thud. Thud. Like rain. But dry. No sound. Just the impact. I wipe the pane. My hand shakes. The hive is outside. The garden is quiet. Too quiet. I am the keeper. I am the man who feeds them. I am the man who knows their names. No. They have no names. I give them names. That is the lie. My name is Thomas. I...

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