The Pale Bonsai
The pot is cracked. That is the first thing you notice, a jagged fissure running from the rim down to the base, leaking dark soil onto the linoleum of the break room. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-four, a municipal sanitation officer, and you are holding a bonsai that should not be speaking. The light in the break room is fluorescent and sickly, buzzing at a frequency that makes your teeth ache,...
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