Part XVII


XVII

It was frigging nasty.

Frigging

Frigging nasty.

More nasty than any nightmare
I had ever dreamed
Reflected across lamps
On the arena
And the blood thirsty screams
That chanted around me
In a different language
Which I somehow understood
‘Kill him, kill him, kill him, kill him’
And it looked at me
All Nine foot of it

All bloody Nine foot of it.

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