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.