The Pale Bonsai
The ledger in the manager’s office listed forty-two missing screws, three broken hinges, and one stolen bonsai tree, a discrepancy that weighed heavier than the iron door itself. Elias stood in the center of the stage, his shoes soaking wet, clutching the small, withered pot to his chest as if it were a heart he had ripped from a corpse. The air in the basement theater smelled of mildew and old...
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