The Pale Bonsai

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 12:48:31 -

The Pale Bonsai

The pen was cold in my hand, a sliver of black plastic that felt like a bone. I held it over the merger agreement, the ink already dry on the first three pages, waiting for the final signature that would secure my pension and my life. The breakroom door was ajar, and from the gap came a smell of wet earth and old leaves, though it was March and the air conditioning hummed its sterile, dry note....

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews