The Wistful Letter
The ink on your hands does not wash off. You scrub them under the tap in the bathroom of the Blackwood Institute until the water runs hot and the skin turns red and raw, counting the seconds, thirty, sixty, ninety, but the black stain remains, settling into the whorls of your fingerprints like a second skin. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, a senior archivist, and in three days the board will...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 2 Views 0 previzualizare