The Faded Frequency
The first sack of coal weighed forty pounds. I counted them. One, two, three. The shovel bit into the soft black mass with a sound like a dry cough. I had been at the Ministry of Records for six years. Six years of dust. Six years of ink. My hands were stained blue to the knuckle, a permanent mark of the work. The air in the cellar smelled of damp stone and old iron. It was the smell of things...
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