( Sickly, strained. She looks like a rag squeezed, spilling mildew. Threadbare, and he does not question the way or the reason of it, only interceding to offer his arm, his time, his safekeeping.
Then, she asks, and he is gutted, blood and bile in his belly like swill and the aches of his head building thunderously, riotous. He feels as he is: bloodless, faint. Why does he not —
It's nearly punched out of him: )
...I do not remember. ( Fear should gut him, irreverent. Does not. He only accepts the inevitability of his amnesia, surrenders to it. ) May I carry you?
no subject
( Sickly, strained. She looks like a rag squeezed, spilling mildew. Threadbare, and he does not question the way or the reason of it, only interceding to offer his arm, his time, his safekeeping.
Then, she asks, and he is gutted, blood and bile in his belly like swill and the aches of his head building thunderously, riotous. He feels as he is: bloodless, faint. Why does he not —
It's nearly punched out of him: )
...I do not remember. ( Fear should gut him, irreverent. Does not. He only accepts the inevitability of his amnesia, surrenders to it. ) May I carry you?
( You are not well. )