The Wistful Witness
The bell tower cracked at noon. It was not a sound of wind. It was a sound of bone. The great bronze tongue, hanging in the throat of St. Jude’s, swung wide. It struck the stone. Stone turned to dust. Dust turned to ash. The ash fell on the square. It fell on the children. It fell on Thomas. Thomas was seven. He stood by the fountain. The water was still. The water was red. He did not move. He...
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