IX

       "Get going. I can't help you."

       The owner of the voice had his heart in his mouth or probably his hand. It's pretty hard to discern. What was quite obvious was the fact that he was conscious of his advances. Not merely conscious, but super conscious. He needed to guide his steps, else death probably would be generous to guide him through the pored paths  of gloom. And of course his life was in his hand, he'd do whatever seemed best to him. His sanity must not be infected by some stereotype. Of course he was afraid. He admitted his fear. Who wouldn't be afraid? A man with loose leopard, though small, walking about the gaunt street. He needed to do something quickly. Probably take the matter to their monarch. For how how would someone whose brain had not been relegated walk about the street with a loose leopard? What was he expecting? Like he was going to be embraced by whoever came to his