The Pale Bonsai
Chapter One I have not washed my hands since the sap first touched my skin, a fact that has since become the only true measure of my time at the post. The light this morning is thin and grey, falling at an angle that suggests the spring flood is days away, perhaps even hours, and I watch the water level rise against the stone wall of the border station. My name is Sota Suzuki, though the men...
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