As the gropes sacred sands, the ground on which he sits melts into his swollen pores. His skin absorbs the polluted, frustrated steam that rises from piles of the wounded. An angry grin begins to rise at the edges of his broken lips. A slight ticking emerges from the distance and masks the sound of beaten, dying hearts. This time there will be no sudden escape. No temporary fix will help him climb away from their misery. They exist to slow his time and draw him back inside the fold. The hollow staccato clicks continue as each one removes another ounce of daylight from his eyes. He turns his line of vision down toward the seething mound of entangled flesh below. Each mouth the broken chants and empty threats that form the mounting steam. He is their new keeper - the living container that will house their shame. His words are broken and mixed as they fall faintly from parched tongue. He manages enough breath to gasp, "Brethren behold - your final climb awaits!" A voice from below whispers in reply, "But you are sinking with us...the skyward light is fading." The keeper glances around to find that the limbs beneath him are shifting every moment. Crumbling edges begin to form a dark circle around the sunken pile of humanity. |