Wolverton

Almost everything about that night has been stolen from him; his memories are like minnows that dart away as he reaches for them.  Only vague flashes remain.  He can’t say whether it was driven by malice or hunger, but in the darkness something rode them and feasted upon them for what was an instant or an eternity.

There’s no sense of passage during it; time draws out like an endless scream.  It’s only when a flailing limb (she’s falling?) knocks over the apparatus that there is respite.  She loses the key to herself.  He loses any sensible fear of the unknown.

 

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~ by Electro-mechanical Man on November 30, 2010.

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