The Pale Verdict
The soup was not food, but a verdict, thick and grey as the fog that rolled in off the Pacific, and Major Elias Thorne held the ceramic bowl in his trembling hands as if it were the only solid thing left in the dissolving architecture of his reality, the heat of the broth seeping into his calloused palms and burning a slow, white path through the numbness that had claimed his fingers hours ago....
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews