Friday, 10 June 2016

The Prince of Exiles, 16

Dream logic: you become aware that you have travelled somewhere else, that time has passed.

Now I am seated on a bed in a spartan, unlit room, shirtless, barefoot, in fresh, loose canvas trousers, listening to the rain. Thunder breaks. Beads of sweat on my back trickle, one by one, tiny cold footsteps on my skin, a creature in the dark.

The shadows obscure the ceiling. I have no clue what time of the day or night it might be, or where my friends are, or what was said in that time since Xipil led us through the city and its unseen people stared in curiosity and horror at the beast who slaughtered its young like calves to the meathouse.


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