The Pale Dance

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 16:46:19 -

The Pale Dance

The ink is wet. It spreads. It eats the paper. You look at it. You see your name. You do not recognize it. The letters twist. They become insects. They crawl. You wipe your hand. You are dirty. The smell of rust. The smell of blood. No. Iron. The factory air. It coats your lungs. It tastes of pennies. You are seven. You are old. The shift whistle blows. It screams. It tears the sky. You drop...

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