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I smell. Blood. Essence. Power. Do I hear, or only remember hearing? I am a fragment of thought atrophying outside space and time. I cannot perceive, and yet I do. I open my eyes.The ceiling above is grey stone, chipped painstakingly into the mountain, not built. No mortar lines. Flickering torchlight shows chisel marks as it dances. There is chanting again, around me, outside the sarcophagus, and a whisper of thought, saying "please..."Blood drips from a slashed wrist above me. Some strikes my. "Well, we could all try again in a couple of days, Katherine. Is Dad shooting blanks already?" I questioned."Winston Marcellus Washburn, what an inappropriate question to ask your own mother?" Well, Katherine Elizabeth Washburn — you didn't answer the question now ... did you?" N-No, he is still shooting 'full loads, ' just not as often as I would like him to," she said now enjoying my hands on her butt."Is breakfast ready yet?" Dad said, walking into the kitchen."Just about, dear — your son. Today he was wearing a pair of jeans and a dark coloured polo.“Good morning, Professor Miller,” I started as I handed him the coffee, milk and sugar. “Thank you so much for taking the time.”“Oh, you didn’t need to bring me coffee. How nice of you,” he said. He set the milk and sugar aside and took a sip of the black coffee. The professor was an attractive man, with sharp features, dark hair and light eyes. He wasn’t ‘good looking’ in the traditional sense, but I thought he was attractive with. "This is your new ride," she said."Hmmm. Porsche Boxster S. Not bad. The red is a bit bright though, don't you think?" Get used to it. It was all they had," she replied."Where we headed?" I just had to ask."To your new home," was the reply.We wound our way down a narrow, twisty road towards the ocean. I could see a secluded beach house at the end of the road. Ilene pulled the car up to the house and turned off the engine. "We're here," she announced.I grabbed my bags and walked inside. The.
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