The Wistful Saga
The ledger had three hundred and forty-two entries. I counted them twice, the paper rough against my thumb, the ink still damp where the clerk had signed it. Fourteen years of service, reduced to a column of numbers that bled red at the bottom. I wanted to leave. I wanted to go home, sit in the chair by the window, and wait for the lungs to finish their slow, grinding work. But the town would...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima