The Wistful Petal
Your thumb presses into the gap where the brick has sheared away, the grit of the loose mortar scratching against the skin until it bleeds, a thin red line that soaks into the dry, powdery dust of the sub-basement wall. You are twelve years old, Elias, and you want to hold this building together, to keep the ceiling from collapsing onto your mother’s bed in the apartment above, but the stone...
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