The Pale Bonsai
The sand was not just sand; it was a grinding, abrasive truth that sucked the heat from my boots and the sanity from my skull, and I was on my knees in Sector 4, my hands bleeding where the dunes had scoured the skin raw, staring at a thing that should not have existed. It was a bonsai, or what passed for one in this hell of red dust, a twisted, leafless stump of pale wood that had erupted from...
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