The Wistful Saga

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 19:08:55 -

The Wistful Saga

The ink is black. My fingers are white. I am thirty-two years old. I sit in the mill office. It is 1912. The window is broken. A pane is missing. The cold comes in. It bites my neck. I shiver. I do not move. I am a clerk. I want my name on the ledger. I want to be seen. Silas, the foreman, stands over me. He holds a piece of paper. He laughs. He calls me a ghost. He says, "You have no weight,...

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