The Golden Scar
The air in the intake tunnel tasted of ozone and rust, a metallic tang that coated the back of young Elias’s throat and refused to be swallowed, lingering there as a bitter testament to the industrial machinery that churned deep beneath the slate hills of the Appalachian foothills. It was a gray, perpetual twilight down here, lit not by the sun but by the humming, flickering glow of the...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews