. "What do you think is happening?"
He wasn't sure whether or not that was the right question to ask. But he was sure of what not to think. He didn't want to nurse the thought that he had been played as a fool by the Nymph as well as the callous Ja Lia. He hated to nurse that thought. And he was afraid that that thought might turn out to be just the truth. He wouldn't be able to help himself get over the thought. He would never be able to help himself. He hoped twasn't what he was thinking. But what was it if twas that. Tcouldnt be anything other than that. He knew that. He didn't want to keep telling himself lanky lies. He needed to be frank with himself. That was not far-fetched. That was not too much to ask. How would being frank with oneself be too much to ask? He knew twas a cake walk but twas the effect on his eerie emotions that scared the crap outta him. If he began to nurse that he might hav
"Could we talk about something else?" He was getting bored out by the Conscience thing discussion. He wouldn't keep to that forever. Twas becoming annoying to him. He could use some new thoughts. The lad seemed very serious and was speaking as though he had been paid for it. He did admire some qualities in the lad but he would never admit it. He had never admitted such and wouldn't start doing that. He could use some better options. Even if the lad did have his strength with conversation, that didn't make him all bossy and didn't present him as an error free warthog. If he did give it time, he would be able to identify quite the numbers of odd stances about him. But that time was what that was outta his reach. He couldn't get to it. He had been trying. He matter-of-factly didn't have power over time as time had no say over him. At least, that was what he believed. His fate was foiled by rage and wa
. "How long more?" His eyes wanted to have themselves isolated. He knew that he wouldn't have to decide for them forever. He was just being a watcher till the taunted time would drag by and he was patiently waiting for the time. His rage was having its best position. He knew what he was going to do when he did set his eyes on the Nymph and the crazy Ja Lia. That would be some spectacle for the lad. He knew that the lad would by heaven and hell be displeased with him. He didn't care. He never did and would never. He wasn't that kinda guy who was easily moved by such. He even loved such stances. They were his jolting joy. They prune his gaunt gay. Would give him rusty reason to hurt and boss. Well he hated bossing. He loved asserting. He loved blood. If he wasn't getting the two, he wouldn't get anything else. He was just going to keep lagging. Lagging in thoughts until reality snap at him and make c
"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