Ache and Darkness
Ache and darkness when he fell a’slumber. Ache and darkness when he rose again.
A stiffness most terrible held Albey bolted to the hardwood floor of the cabin. His legs, arms, back, his neck especially refused to bend, so there he laid in the darkness of that unfamiliar house, the way into which he found buried in a black mat of ashes. The ceiling was dark, the walls were dark, they day was dark.
Of course, the day is always dark before the sun rises.
Fighting the pain through ignorance Albey propped himself up on his hind and sat dazedly in the lightless space. There was a soft glow coming from underneath the door, but outside of the outside he could see nothing but that vague miasma of colors he sometimes sees when he closes his eyes and lets his mind settle; could hear nothing but a quiet ringing and the beating of his heart in his ears; could feel nothing but the ache of exertion, the pain of an empty stomach, the hurt of living long enough to bury his friends. The sheet of papyrus upon which he copied Iuqon’s runes was stuck to his chest despite the fact he was sitting up, but it was dry. Dry enough, at least. It rested on the floor beside him; he’d have to find somewhere safe to put it later on.
“I’ll have to find a great many things,” Albey grumbled to himself as he shakily rose to his throbbing feet. “Better food, easier water… a new purpose in Life…” A sigh. “A great many things indeed.”
Albey turned then and tried to open the door, but it was locked. The key was somewhere on the floor and it hurt too much to bend over, so he simply laid back down. His hand fell upon it then, but still the Mad Poet stayed laying until the twilight glow beneath the door took more resemblance to daylight than to nightlight. Only then did he rise again. Unlocked the door. Stepped out into the gloomy grayish blue of the waking world. There was a lot going on that morning, but he chose to ignore it. The Mad Poet was thirsty and tired, so very tired, and so he shambled off into the forest like a walking corpse, leaving the door of the cabin open behind him.
This has been the first subchapter of the sixth chapter of The Face of Fear, a novel about bigfoot written by the writer in Untitled Bigfoot Project. Here is everything you need to know about it:
I’ve written a few other books, too. Click here to see the list.
The Hillside Commons has a Facebook page. Here’s that.
If you’re there, hypothetical reader, thank you for being there. From this day on, we move forever forward~