The Pale Bonsai
The ink moved before I touched the pen. It was a slow, viscous crawl, darkening the margins of the accession form until the paper looked bruised. I set the nib down and watched the script rearrange itself, the letters slanting into a new, accusatory configuration. This was the Pale Bonsai entry, the final item in the subterranean archive’s catalog before my mandatory retirement, and the text...
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