VIII.
I turn back, blindfolded still. I do not need to see but only feel. By now the leader of hoodlums must have seen the blackened wound on my head. For I felt, and heard two gunshots on my back. They did not even wait to see it through at first. Must be because there was a steadfastness to the way I took my steps. On a telepathic line of support, I was almost floating while I moved. Bang, tuck tuck! More gunshots popped off on my back. Bang! Then to the head. I was nearing the limit of my endurance. So be it. Just when the 9th shot took lodging on my body, I could feel an invisible, heavy body moving towards me. On 11th shot, it crashed on my body, sending limbs and vitals flying all over the direction of gunshots. My eyeballs got crushed under the heaviness of the moving body. "So it's the great truck to Amaravati", I mumbled to myself, with the bursted, severed mouth to the mound of my white and grey matter. Surprisingly it was still intact, out of the trajectory of the invisible truck. "Great, I can 'see' the whole thing through" I mumbled again. With my blasted left ear, which was the part of my body nearest to the group that were shooting me, I could hear the confusing noises among the group. The noises of utter horror, the noises of bones laying down their marrow like an everlasting stream. The noises of brainmatters getting squished, the noises of collapsing nasal bridges. The synthing of repeater came to a halt. On the ocean of time, the repeater dared not violate. It was rather inconvenient that my eyeballs got crushed, for I wanted to see what happened to that smug bastard, the head honcho. Was he beheaded? Did his lux populi come asunder? Did he fully realize the stark horror of wizard death? My blood by then were assembling on the hinterland of that trapezium room. It fed off into the rectanglenticular scabs formations on the roof. Like a help-amended drunkard, I projected an aerial body on a nearby wall, swinging my legs like a teenage girl. From the drunken stupor, I leaned back on a cracked glasswall, it biting like a matrix of cuts on my phantomback. I felt light, very light. The room smelled of spraying blood. I got off the ledge, making off to the wizard death. Horizonscaped cessation of tarrots...
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Souvenirs du temps passé II / Shadowplay for Futuredays