The Pale Bonsai
The memo was three sentences long. It sat on my desk, white against the gray laminate, heavy as a stone in a shoe. It said my transfer to solitary confinement was pending. It said the reason was a violation of protocol I did not remember committing. It said effective immediately. I counted the words. Eleven. I counted the minutes until my shift started. Forty-five. I am Elias Thorne,...
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