The Wistful Asylum

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 17:48:21 -

The train pulled out of Harrow Station at dawn, the whistle shrieking like a dying bird. Thomas held the brass compass in his pocket. It was cold. The metal bit into his thigh. He watched the platform empty. His father stood there, still in his uniform, cap in hand. He did not wave. He only watched. The tracks blurred. The air smelled of coal smoke and wet gravel. Thomas was a man of few words....

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