The Tuesday Mourning
Tom Ashworth died on the coal chute staircase. It was not dramatic. There was no dramatic gasp, no grasping at the air, no final vision of a life unspent. There was only the familiar heaviness in his chest, the taste of copper on his tongue, and the slow, creeping certainty that his lungs were filling with something that was not air. He slid down the wooden steps, one at a time, until his back...
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