The Pale Bonsai
The train slows to a crawl as it passes through the mist, and you sit in the corner, clutching a box that feels heavier than it should. Inside is the thing you are here to return, the object that has defined your existence for the last decade. It is a ceramic vessel, glaze the color of bone, shaped like a distorted human head. You bought it in a flea market in Prague, years ago, when you were...
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