"Wake me up..."
The lad looked around him as though he was in search of something. Like he was charmed or spelled or had been brainwashed by some apt alakazam. He couldn't rely on his instinct. He felt like it had been defected by what he couldn't fathom. Like he was hallucinating. Probably he wasn't in his sewn sense. Probably twas getting sewn and he was just an onlooker. He probably was a part of it or had paid for it or was seeing it. He couldn't be be so sure. And of course he needed to sure else he would be a die tossed about like the tip of the hay like the May's wanky winds. His rage was burnished in rage. That was ironical. He didn't know what he was feeling. He was sure that his feelings were just pulling salient strings he couldn't alter. Probably he could be the conductor or spill his odds. Like the faggot of a god would spit its lava. He could puke his guts and watch time have the best
"Where are we?" He looked confused. His eyes widened. He wasn't sure if he had ever been there. He tried to concentrate. Like was he dreaming? He couldn't be sure. He had never felt such urge neither had he savored such aroma of such moment. He hated being confused. He could kill for it. He had killed for it. He had punished for it. He had marred for it. He had done quite the numbers of things for it and would keep to such. He didn't know what was going on and didn't know how to figure out. That was way complicated. If there was another word for that, of course he would say. If there was another qualitative pull to it or semantic denotations, he would had embraced it. He looked hastily around. Yea! They were all there. Was he dreaming? No of course. He had been in the arena. The crazy arena. The mystery arena. The lofty offshoot of contemplation. He didn't want that to have the best part of him. He
"At your call." The porter bordered the locks of the gate and then opened. Took him quite the while before he was able to pull the gate to himself. He probably had been having his best time. Probably he was an offshoot of merry, or the leftover of pain. As he opened the gate, he caught the glimpse of the lad firstly, then the Cod, then what? A leopard, hell! He had only seen leopard at the arena when he did have the opportunity to visit there once. He hadn't seen one like very close. He knew he might simply collapse but that was not the best thing to do. If he did collapse, the leopard might yet eat his unconscious draw. He wouldn't watch that happen. No of course! He wouldn't be able to watch it happen. He was just going to feel the pangs and odds all over him. He hated that feeling. He didn't want to savor it. He didn't want to have a taste of such bile. Twould bruise his mercy and make his breath
"Medusa guide this." He knew that that was a stray. That was no actually what he wanted to say. He had never believed in any spiritual being and wouldn't start at that moment. He allowed his mental ken to expand. Twas porous and could absorb facts which were remote. He didn't have much time to entertain guesses. He would be bent on other things but that. The lad was not getting it. He was sure that the lad would never make meaning of such stances time had supplanted. He was the only one acquainted with the malady and of course, he would attend to it. Twas worth fixing, he wouldn't hold back. His pain was about to be channeled. His rage about to be soothed. He was at the prime of attaining the hoisted heights he had longed for and he could feel it. It could feel the rays of contentment flickering over his consciousness. He didn't want to be bewitched. He simply needed to act. Acting was the
"Why have doubts, dear Monarch." He hated being wrong. It nauseated him. It did belittle him and made him seem as though he was the dumbest of all beings. He knew that was not true. He was trying to be sane. The voice yet was familiar but the man who had stepped off the carriage was different. He looked Irish. He couldn't be sure. He had known few gladiators from Ireland. He knew what they could do and what they were up to. He was trying to test his stance. He knew that he wasn't wrong. His mercy wouldn't him. He couldn't afford to nurse stray thoughts. He let his rage subside. If he didn't, hardly would he be able to prune lofty thoughts. He would only be given to his rage and that would never help him. He would steer clear of that. Yet he was skeptical. His salient sixth sense kept rehearsing the odds of tossing his hampered haste aside. Probably he was simply obsessed with wanting to kill
"Not too bad for a monarch." He knew he was getting more patient than he used to be. He had no idea what was happening to him. His thoughts should be raging. His instinct should be quaking. His rage should be rent and his ire be supplanted. He had no idea why he was being as cool. That was more than a little bit faker skin of himself. That was more of a mountain of odd parts wearing out his patience. He knew that there were quite the numbers of things he would not take. He was just being patient. Not because he was sane. He was scheming his plot. That was the thing he was skilled at. And he had gotten on it. The lady who was speaking seemed all saucy. Exactly like the Nymph. He didn't care how powerful or influential they were or could be. Didn't matter to him. He didn't care. What mattered to him had been extended. He was having his rage tamed for the meantime. He wouldn't continue being ruth
"Meatheads, arise and die for your doom has been supplanted." The ball stopped rolling. He couldn't tell precisely what had just happened. He knew that he had not making a sane thought and he would be vexed. He knew he had to make an apt conclusion or arrive at a sane disposition else he would be forced to do other things that would hurt everyone. He was taming his rage and was glad that he was doing accurately. He was thumbing himself up for the resistance he was savoring. He knew that he wouldn't keep to that like forever. He tried to process the thoughts which had been strangled by the recently stopped malady. Most of the thoughts already had been chopped. He couldn't make a sane meaning of them all. He couldn't pick them up and make them into a tower. Probably a statue or a tower. There was nothing he could do. Probably there was something, but twas far from his reach. That was sup
. "Got an idea how we go here mate?" He had obviously waited for that day. He had seriously pined for it that his muscles wrenched in porous pain. His passion even did quake in rage until then. But he hadn't thought of it under that circumstance. He had thought of it in a better place. But he could actually live on one at the expense of the other. He could keep his thought brooding as a specimen. He could live there at that moment for the time being with his leopard. He had missed it. And the two of them having to face the same odds was the best experience he had ever wished for. He was scanning his instinct whether or not there was anything stray there which could be harmful to either himself or the panther. That was the only creature he did care for. Aside that, he didn't care for any other. He didn't even know what care was. He didn't care what care was. His instinct was widening as he tri
"Who was that?" He had been kicked from reality into gnawing gloom after that voice he couldn't discern. And again the voice woke him up. Tossed him back into reality. He had no idea what was happening to him. He had no idea what pain he was going to make of his patience. He was trying to be sane enough to decode the stance but he wasn't sure how well he would be able to do that. He hadn't been that responsible and being responsible was never and would never be part of his agenda or plan. He had never given a fuck what people would think or did think. He hated to nurse the throbbing thought of he being a human. He knew he was some missing link between some odd entities, but he couldn't be sure what they were. He didn't know who they were and if he did figure out, he was so sure that he would not pardon them. He was damn sure that he would make them smell the loo of their shenanigans. He knew w