Warm Breath


That morning, as Carmine waited in the abandoned warehouse for his contact to show, he was surrounded by cold darkness, as if he was buried in a tomb. His breath rose into the air, warm steam spilling from his lips, then grew warmer and warmer until he realized that it wasn’t just breath that was coming out and that it wouldn’t stop. As he choked and gagged, writhing on the cold floor with his throat billowing hot smoke, Carmine knew two things: that it hadn’t just been coffee in his mug and that betraying his boss had been a big mistake.

This is for Three Line Tales. Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and to Dominik Martin for providing the prompt photo!

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