The Distant Joke

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 18:07:55 -

The Distant Joke

The ink on my hands was not paint. It was not soot, nor the dye from the vats at the Halloway Mill, nor the grease that clung to the gears of our lives in Oakhaven. It was a black, viscous script that had seeped into the pores of my skin during the fire, a mark that no amount of lye or scrubbing could remove. I stood before the mirror in my bathroom, the glass fogged with steam, and watched the...

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