The Pale Bonsai

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 06:58:17 -

The Pale Bonsai

The fog did not smell of rain. It smelled of ozone and old copper, a metallic tang that coated the back of my throat before I could blink. I woke with the taste of iron on my tongue, the dream still clinging to me like wet wool. In the dream, the bridge was not steel and stone but a ribcage, white and translucent, expanding and contracting in the grey air. I was inside it, trying to hold the...

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