Naked, on the Edge

Начало книги

One, two, three, four, five, six, turn, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, turn one, two, three, four.

He stopped, scratched his ear and his neck. Several drops fell from the ceiling and he put his fingers to the wet then brought the wet to his mouth and sucked at it. Then, he picked up where he left off.

Five, six, turn, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, turn, one, two.

And then he remembered, and he remembered hard, and he dropped to the damp concrete, his bare knees accustomed to this move after two years, cushioning the fall with thick, bulbous layers of scar tissue. His butchered hands went together, his blood vessels picked up a rhythm of familiar, sweat-driving dread, and he prayed his impotent prayer.

“Lord is my shepherd. Shadow of the valley of death. Do unto others all the days of my life. I pray the Lord my soul to take. Little hands be careful.”

He repeated it until the words lost their meaning and he was freed again from the knowledge of his past, his present, and his inevitable and horrific future. Standing, he felt his way in the darkness to the corner and began again.

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