“The Earth Drowns Us” in The Smokelong Quarterly

Hours after the shaking of the earth I was pinned under a church pew with the deep silence that comes when you are completely, absolutely alone in a dark without ears. Then the great, fallen dome of the church cracked open like an egg. The sound of a drill pierced the mute. I could see daylight, a man descending from a rope.

Qui dentro! I yelled. Eccomi!


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