Delirium rings the bell that shatters the moist underlay. Soggy from the marsh, and sopping in the dissent of dry dock, the day is raw with a shine that leaves salt under the flaps of the eyelids. Caustic, itching, and slightly disturbing to the touch, it's a case of finding the right angle of vision to cast the gaze upon.
Across the water of the standing pool, where the wash of meat and feet gather to clump a mighty fine resource for dysentery, a skimming of the supply is enough to move about the foreigners from the eyes. Nice enough for the effect, its very application is a sore point. Smooth and sticky flowing free from the continued application of curiousity.
With blindness now certain, the only thing left to do is laugh.
Laugh at least until that silence explosion says hello to the back and leaves the left nostril gathering all sorts of sinew, skull and other bloody fragments.
And as it is, it is all a bloody mess.
This is what you get when you take your time to readjust your setting, your view and your outlook. Accept the situation and deal with it. Attempt to rub it out of existence, and be careful it doesn't wipe you out before the next step.
Written on Wednesday, 14 March 2007