The Pale Bonsai

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 11:06:08 -

The Pale Bonsai

The blood on my knuckles was dry. It had turned the color of rust, a flaking, brittle crust that cracked when I flexed my fingers. I sat in the center of the tiled floor of the interrogation room. The tiles were white, sterile, and endless. They reflected the harsh fluorescence above, a light that hummed with a low, sickly drone. It was a sound that burrowed into the teeth. Across from me sat...

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