White Coffin

I made spaghetti for supper. A bad day, you said. You needed a soak. Your last words as you breezed past me. Moments later the bathtub faucet came on an army of water pouring out marching through your windpipe and seizing your soul.   With a shaky hand, I twisted the doorknob. You, in your work suit overturned in the…

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