The Pale Tale
The shrapnel hit the skylight three seconds before the blast. I did not hear the explosion so much as feel it, a sudden, violent unmaking of the air around me. One moment I was hunched over the drafting table, my pencil poised above the schematic for the new municipal water treatment plant; the next, I was suspended in a void of white noise and flying glass. The ceiling of the office, a grid of...
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