Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Trudge slumped idly on the skull of the giant, the sandstorm fading away over the western horizon behind him. His deck – what little of it he managed to hold onto – lay in ruins at his feet. He was alone. He was always alone, though, when he stopped to really think about it. But the company of others – friends, strangers, lovers—kept him from thinking about it, kept him from being lonely.
He was lonely.
He had seen Aresian sandstorms before, but none like the one that had just taken his arm.