We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of
the tumid river…”[1]
two: in the bird cage he sings, sorrow-sorrow-sorrow
It was dark.
He remembered the blood steeped everything, the panic in their eyes, the taste of bile and bitter failure on his tongue. Sweat and anxiety, anticipation and fear–his last glimpse of the three alive.
And then his world had blackened with the unconsciousness of blood loss and injury.
He had fallen, but never hit the ground.
He sat up with difficulty (aching everywhere), hands bound. His robes were gone. His gun and sutra were gone. Blindfolded, he had to rely on his senses. There was silence. And silk. And the faint, almost imperceptible fragrance of delicate blooms…
a field of flowers, brightly reflecting the sun.
dark lonesome figure blatantly in the middle, robe billowing out behind
black hair fluttering.
pale face turning and meeting his own.
glittering blue and gold.
(malice filled whispers in the dark of taint and heretics)
a smile.
....love in those eyes.
He needed a nicotine fix and an aspirin to clear his head and… He was stubborn, but the tide was too strong. Sanzo cursed as he faded into the white of comatose.
[1] "The Hollow Men" by T.S. Elliot
Author's Note: I have (what I think to be) a beautiful format for this short-chaptered story... but am inept in terms of the use of html codes, so do not know how to use them to recreate my pretty formatting. Technology does not agree with me.