The Pale Bonsai
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended grey mist that smelled of wet ash and old copper, blurring the lines between the prison yard and the world beyond the razor wire. I stood at the center of the concrete square, my hands bound behind my back with zip ties that cut into the skin of my wrists, and watched as the warden, a man named Silas who had the eyes of a tired...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews