The Faded Quadrant
The black marker felt slick and cold in my palm, the plastic cap rolling away to clatter against the linoleum floor with a sound that seemed too loud for the small, airless room. I held the memo up to the weak bulb of the bedside lamp, the paper thin as onion skin, and began to scrub the word *Thorne* from the header, the ink bleeding into the fibers, a brown stain spreading like a bruise that...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews