The Pale Bonsai
The mud of the Somme did not care about the year. It was 1912, or perhaps 1916, the dates had blurred into a single, gray smear of wet earth and iron. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood in the trench, his boots sunk to the ankle, clutching a terracotta pot against his chest. Inside the pot, a pale bonsai pine struggled to hold its shape. He had stolen it from a German officer’s tent two days prior, a...
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