The Wistful Silence
The bell tower of St. Jude’s collapsed on a Tuesday, the sound not like a crash but like a long, wet exhale that swallowed the morning. Dust, thick as flour and tasting of ancient stone, settled over the nave, coating the pews in a pale shroud. I stood in the chaos, my hands trembling, not from fear of the falling debris, but from the sudden, violent clarity of the silence that followed. The...
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