The Pale Bonsai
The bonsai in Cell 402 is three inches taller than it was this morning. You stand in the corridor, the fluorescent lights humming their low, sick note, and you watch the leaves unfurl with a violence that makes your stomach turn. It is a ficus, or something that was once a ficus, now twisted into a shape that defies the pot’s clay rim. You are Elias Thorne, senior correctional officer,...
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