The Distant Threshold
The coal chute collapses at dawn. You are standing on the iron catwalk of the mill. Below, the black water of the Tyne churns, thick with sludge and the blood of the river. The structure groans. It snaps. You fall. But you do not hit the water. You land on a net. A heavy, woven net of rope and wire. It holds. You hang there, suspended between the sky and the dark, breathing in the smell of...
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