The Distant Temple
The boiler room was a tomb of iron and heat. The air tasted of copper and stale grease. I was sweating. My uniform stuck to my back. It was wet. It was heavy. I did not wipe my face. I did not look away. We were in the basement. Below the hospital. Below the city. The pipes groaned. They sang a low, metallic song. It was the only sound. Then there was the breathing. My breathing. And the...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 3 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen