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Dreamt I was back in that basement again.  

Smell of damp earth and warm blood that for once wasn’t someone else’s.   Trussed and truculent – burning still from the torment of UV and old pain and new fury.   At him and me.

Tensing experimentally against the restraints, watching him clink open the new gun and fumble with ridiculous silver bullets.

Now we’re both locked and loaded.

Metal paused and mettle poised; man-held machine and man-held monster under tension – sprung and ready to spring.  

One death or another about to be triggered.



There is no snap.   The straps do not break, the gun does not fire.


Mutual disappointment.


He investigates, but the misfire is resolute and absolute.   Snatches up cell phone in one hand, and leaves an angry phone message.   (Leaves a…?) Picks up gun in other hand to take with him – thinks better of it – and leaves in anger.


Of course, in the dream he does actually come back.   When I’ve worked myself free and the hunger pains are gnawing…




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