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Evil Jim

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12:50 am: No Time for Dreamers (part ii)
. . . yet he wasn't startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

PART II

There were voices; familiar, yet the only one he'd heard in this world was his own. A deep mumbling that sounded as strong as the hand felt, and another, soft and cool, yet troubled. He tried to ignore them and return to his cliff-side thoughts and dreams, but the distant droning howl unnerved him in a way he couldn't understand and added to the urgency of the wordless voices beside him. He could smell pine and ivy, and a hint of snow for the weeks to come. He could feel the chill of stone and earth under his bare feet and the rough cloth of the clothing against his skin. Yet he couldn't help being drawn away from it all; what he had traveled so long and far to see, endured hardships and misery such as never before to reach and to where he prayed his ancestors' gentle souls would someday guide him.

The hand touched him again and he arose, sitting up in bed. He looked up into four weary and worried eyes, some were moist. He could still feel the winds swirling about his small frame until a soft blanket sent them away. The mechanical wailing was louder now and when it reached its peak, deafening. He saw the mountains again briefly as they seemed now to glow faintly, but he rose and spun... and was carried away.

Darkness and light and panic filled his world now. He seemed to be going down. Down, down further out of the reach of light as the wail receded, calming him a bit. Still he moved. Or,
they moved since he was not alone. Though their presence was comforting, it was confusing and he still longed for the solace of his quiet mountaintop. Through a glimpse he saw the distant peaks beyond and above the black sea of woods. The rough shapes were outlined in red and a new star in the growing dawn was about to alight its summit. All thought was slain by a moment of sheer terror.

- E V I L O U T -

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