Box
What manner of place is this? No light. No sound. I quell the terror rising in my breast and strain to listen, to hear beyond the muffled space into which I am squeezed. Timbers creak. The Earth groans. In the ensuing silence, I sense my own pulse; slow and distant as the stars; shallow as a leafy grave. I remember nothing. Nothing but a name. Daniel. The name opens a door. Now I remember Daniel. Rough, playful hands. Soft, skilful lips. I remember his flesh swelling in my disbelieving hands,...
Supernatural