...
The sun, though a firey streaking ball of light,
floats endlessly in the darkness, void of space. Nery thinks
of this image as he rocks back and forth in the encompass-
sing envelope of vegetation
and steam.
This humidity, It’s toughing him in every crevasse.
It is not ok. His veins were bulging yesterday.
The pressure. Why was he sent here again? His friends are dead.
And why is Jules dismissing? Must be the humidity.
Where is she going?
The Entity seems further than before.
And the spiders, why can't they crawl on his face?!
The bugs are too much. He could play guitar, but
the music would end up dark. That pain still prowls underne-
ath his shoulder blade. He keeps rocking forth
and back.
Something aggressive is stalking around the corner.
Ferocio? If so, he has taken a different form. It must be
A creature from that one vision. Did they give it a name?
That place resonates, He sees it coming closer.
Does it call to him? In
deep thinking, reality slips away.
Thinking- or conjuring? What can he control?
Things above the corporal are beginning to warp. Above
and below are without ration, without existence.
There is no direction.
Cold and numb and spiritually sick, he seeks a cloak for
warmth and receives it. From something near, and it reciprocates.
Melodies string through
his head- he takes the neck and plays it.
He plays where the creatures take him.
He cannot feel himself rocking back and forth, screeching. When
he does not, the strings do it for him.
He is grateful. It is human’s afternoon and the
sun is covered.
