Chapter 7 · free to read
If a dead brother was borrowing a hand, I wanted to know whose. So I took mine off the board.
Six hours. I never stood up once. It is the best alibi I have ever had in my life.
It burned at three in the morning, in one straight bright line, four streets from a radiator I was chained to.
Issued the year he died. Never handed back. A dead firefighter had been carrying a key to my office for nineteen years.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.