The Falling
I Tom Riley woke up at six in the morning because that is what he had done for eighteen years when the steel mill whistle blew. The whistle did not blow today. There was no whistle. There was only the sound of the radiator clanking and the sound of his own breathing and the sound of a house that was too quiet because his son was not in the next room. He lay on his back and looked at the...
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