

Prism of Rose: A Short StoryPrism of Rose A wired hand reaches through the ground between us, grasping at the sky with each of its leathered fingers. Sprouts of green adorn it like the emerald rings of a cadaver. It leans back and forth, undoubtedly restless and struggling for comfort below the ground. The pairing hand lies across the road from us, pairs lining each side. To think beneath the cement, along that yellow, center line, there are innumerable darkened heads slowly dying in shallow urban graves. We stood in the courtyard looking down at these skeletal hands, completely unaware of their nature.Prism of Rose: A Short Story
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-Capturing the light-
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