|The Traveller||Part 2|
The hand closes around the tiny body and rips it into the light. It is not afraid because he is defenseless, no hard parts with which to scratch; no nails, teeth, nor the very sense of a need to assert his existence. For the first time in his short (innocent) life he feels pain as he is flung onto a cold, steel table. The cold of the metal burns his undeveloped skin as he wheezes in shock. The man raises a hammer. Struggling to fill his tiny lungs with air, he finds he had managed to open one of his eyes. As his world fills with light his pain is forgotten in the face of a new understanding. The man's words of hatred jar his ears with a roar that clears all memory of his mother's (warm) heart beating. His world cycles down as it shudders in shock from the powerful
blow that was executed to his head. All begins to fade and drift away from the novice mind. The memory of his last (first) sight of the monster with the hammer replays continually until it starts to pulsate between picture and black;and this black was the most beautiful color he had ever seen. Then it stopped.
The man looked fearfully at the pile of carcasses that filled his shed. This late in the season? he thought, My god, I hope there aren't any more! He walked through the open door and strode over to the rotting corpse that (wiggled and cried) seemed to live.
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