Frost. It meanders across the shoulders and onto the couch. The green then the white, and the green again. It’s nice…but you are playing and you want to be picked. Why is he hunting? There’s no need, laying back works. Fuck it, it’s futile, he keeps hunting…his prey’s on the move….leaping, sweeping across…on the other side now…but it’s locked! Why would it be locked, there are no secrets between us, just let me in…Sweat.
Bullets and bullets…shirt’s drenched, stuck. Depleting saltpetre, but my Belmont’s aren’t in reach. That half’s closed…Why look to the left when the game’s on the right…Focus. He’s counting, mapping his quest. I lose interest in him, my labyrinth beckons. I enter. It’s easy. Facile. I invite him to play, but he’s irate now. He must hunt. Brother, stop! Laying back works take it from me. The other half signals its presence. Amused, but dangerously, teetering on panic. I want to respond, to reassure, even grin, but no go, it’s locked. Focus! Sweat. Bullets and bullets, but only on the right. Green and white and white and green and you can merge and why not the hunt’s on but you want no part of it you just want to merge you just want to be and green and white and white and green and on and on and smile…
Cillin, you can turn now… Cigarette’s cashed though. Stand up, vitals normal, sigh, sit, look, channel-flip. Tummy announces it’s existence.
I’m back. ¿Por qué?