The Distant Joke
I had counted the hours in the cell by the slant of the light through the high, barred window. From the first pale gray of dawn to the deepening amber of late afternoon, the beam traveled three inches across the stone floor. I knew this because I had dragged my fingernail across the grit to mark the line, a small act of defiance against the crushing weight of the silence. I was Elias, a scribe...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 1 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση