The Wistful Petal
The mud does not just hold you; it eats you. You are Elias, forty-two, a botanist with dirt under his fingernails that has not washed out in twenty years. You want the Wistful Petal. You want it badly enough to break the rules of the marsh, badly enough to ignore the rot that smells like ozone and old copper. The plant is the last of its kind, a fragile, white-throated flower that grows only...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews