OZ
私I AM IN A LOT OF PAIN AND IT'S STARTING TO FEEL LIKE VINEGAR TEETH AND WELTERING FLAME.
TRUTHFULLY, I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT I WANT OUT OF LIFE, NOT ANYMORE. I'M TOO OLD TO IMAGINE MYSELF OUT OF PLACE SAVE FOR IN PIECES OF SCALPEL SUTURE, STITCHES FOR A MENDED HAND. I HAVE SKILLS TO OFFER AND NOT ENOUGH TIME TO MAKE THEM LAST. PERHAPS ANOTHER WAR WAS ON THE HORIZON, NEEDING HIM YET.
HE SPEAKS, THE YOUNG THING UP THERE, NOW-KING, AND THE WORDS ARE GOOD AND SANGUINE. THEY WILL BE IN GOOD HANDS, WARM AND PROUD AND ANGRY AS THE DESERTS THEY LIVE IN.
I WALK TO HIM.
"MY LIEGE," HE SAYS, SOUNDING PLUME HOT, SUDDEN, AS BAPTISMAL FLAME-- TOO SERIOUS, FOR AN ALREADY SERIOUS ENVIRONMENT-- VOICES ECHOING AROUND HIM, THE RED WORLD AND ITS CANYON CHAMBERS ROILING IN ITS NATURAL DAY HEAT.
HE PICKS IDLY AT THE BRUSH GRASS LIKE AN OLD GOAT DISGRUNTLED FROM HAVING BEEN WOKE MORESO THAN THE DOCTOR-CARETAKER OF THEIR WOMEN AND MEN, HAVING ALREADY SEEN THE COMINGS AND GOINGS OF KINGS, POLITICS, AND BATTLEMENTS A HALF DOZEN TIMES OVER. POSTURE STONE STIFF, NECK BOWED, SCALED IN SCAR, MORE TIRED THAN HE CAN EVER SAY . . . AND LOOMING LIKE A THREAT TO WHICHEVER SIDE WASN'T ON THE ERR OF PEACE, THE MILKIER OF HIS EYES WANDERS ALONG THE COLLECTED FRAY, PASSING JUDGMENTS SILENT, SUBJECTIVE, SAFE IN THE FIELDS OF THEM.
"PEOPLE ARE UNIFIED WHEN CARED FOR," HE SAYS, THE CALM GREEN IN ALL THAT GOLD AND SAND, "THEIR CHILDREN, OUR FUTURES AND COMFORT. IF YOU MAKE IT SO, THEN WHERE YOU GO, YOU ARE FOLLOWED BY ME. WHERE YOU NEED MEN HEALED BODILY OR IN HEAD, PUT ME."
TRUTHFULLY, I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT I WANT OUT OF LIFE, NOT ANYMORE. I'M TOO OLD TO IMAGINE MYSELF OUT OF PLACE SAVE FOR IN PIECES OF SCALPEL SUTURE, STITCHES FOR A MENDED HAND. I HAVE SKILLS TO OFFER AND NOT ENOUGH TIME TO MAKE THEM LAST. PERHAPS ANOTHER WAR WAS ON THE HORIZON, NEEDING HIM YET.
HE SPEAKS, THE YOUNG THING UP THERE, NOW-KING, AND THE WORDS ARE GOOD AND SANGUINE. THEY WILL BE IN GOOD HANDS, WARM AND PROUD AND ANGRY AS THE DESERTS THEY LIVE IN.
I WALK TO HIM.
"MY LIEGE," HE SAYS, SOUNDING PLUME HOT, SUDDEN, AS BAPTISMAL FLAME-- TOO SERIOUS, FOR AN ALREADY SERIOUS ENVIRONMENT-- VOICES ECHOING AROUND HIM, THE RED WORLD AND ITS CANYON CHAMBERS ROILING IN ITS NATURAL DAY HEAT.
HE PICKS IDLY AT THE BRUSH GRASS LIKE AN OLD GOAT DISGRUNTLED FROM HAVING BEEN WOKE MORESO THAN THE DOCTOR-CARETAKER OF THEIR WOMEN AND MEN, HAVING ALREADY SEEN THE COMINGS AND GOINGS OF KINGS, POLITICS, AND BATTLEMENTS A HALF DOZEN TIMES OVER. POSTURE STONE STIFF, NECK BOWED, SCALED IN SCAR, MORE TIRED THAN HE CAN EVER SAY . . . AND LOOMING LIKE A THREAT TO WHICHEVER SIDE WASN'T ON THE ERR OF PEACE, THE MILKIER OF HIS EYES WANDERS ALONG THE COLLECTED FRAY, PASSING JUDGMENTS SILENT, SUBJECTIVE, SAFE IN THE FIELDS OF THEM.
"PEOPLE ARE UNIFIED WHEN CARED FOR," HE SAYS, THE CALM GREEN IN ALL THAT GOLD AND SAND, "THEIR CHILDREN, OUR FUTURES AND COMFORT. IF YOU MAKE IT SO, THEN WHERE YOU GO, YOU ARE FOLLOWED BY ME. WHERE YOU NEED MEN HEALED BODILY OR IN HEAD, PUT ME."