| fixated on a thought or phrase even after life has been crushed, lips moving and repeating the words over and over, I want my Mom, I want my Mom, even as people gather and whisper, You'll be okay, help is coming, just lay still, not realizing that they are dead, finished, gone. But light dances in the boy's eyes as he turns to look at you. Yes, he says, yes, you know, you know. You want to ask, Know what? but he has jumped into the river, and you rush to the bank, because this water is ice-cold and treacherous, but you see his face, looking up at you, bal-looned and wide, whiskers sprouted from his cheeks, and his elfin grin is now the dirty, pure leer of a tricky oldster, and with a shake of his body, he flows from you, his trunk corkscrewing around and the tail slapping at the river's surface, drenching you with water that tastes like nothing but nectar even as you choke on it.  | Lin Page 5 *** Infuriating in his abstinence, the Stranger has refused to partake of the opium pipe. Such substances have no effect on you, in fact very little in this world has an effect on you, and yet you still take pleasure in another's sin, the sheer luxuriousness of it. But the Stranger will have none of it, he merely allows the cushions to swallow him as he sniffs at the leftover fumes of addicts, his body at one with the arabesques carved into the fabric. Outside the bonfires burn, the troops shouting with unholy strength as they run through the streets. The Stranger's wide-brimmed hat casts a slab of shadow over his face as he tells his tale. It was the first time I saw you. I was young and alone, at the foot of Buzhou Mountain, and I saw you fight the other, the opponent who was just like you. It was a draw, neither side gaining advantage on the other.  | |
