The Distant Garden

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 11:18:19 -

The glass is in your hands. It is not a vase. It is not a trophy. It is a shard of your own uniform, the blue polyester torn from the shoulder where the tear happened. You are bleeding. The blood is hot. It runs down your wrist. It drips onto the white floor. The floor is not white. It is the ceiling of the office. You are falling. Or the room is spinning. It does not matter. The shard is cold....

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