Women Who Make Their Men Wear Girdles

The Night at Morwick

Small text written in a hurry on Tubular Bells.

They were there. Somewhere beyond the circle of light. The mist that came from his mouth slowly condensed to form fine droplets. He shivered despite the heat. His heart was pounding. Flares sizzled, quivered projecting light swaying who do not reassure. He breathed
bruyemment, breathless, unable to sit still. The sweat had long wet his shirt. Crazy eyes trying to pierce the darkness, he dared not blink even though he felt the pull that this effort asked. He knew he was not entitled to make mistakes, he could not fall asleep for a second. He could rest his tired eyes. One was smaller than the other, barely able to perceive shapes in the barn penumbra. He needed all his faculties and God knew they were thin. The
stronger than he had been unsuccessful and he laughed. Laughed at their folly. Who was the most crazy now?
He shuddered and muttered "I know you're here." The hours slipping away. The night was endless. Wood working and crackled. A sane man would have laughed at his fears, did not see anything and would have died, surprised. A surprise on his face mask dried, emptied of all life. He had seen piles of corpses and surprised. Women, and children were the worst. He could get by with a view adult body, but those children were terrifying. Innocence seemed to have been absorbed leaving them only the eyes and a mouth accusers identified the lips in a mocking grin. He had nightmares ever since.
He jumped for fear of allowing himself to daydream. The circle of light around him seemed to have shrunk. Flares do not take the night. They took advantage of his inatention to reduce them. He wanted to spit but his mouth was too dry. He would die without doing anything. No. "No! You will not get me. Bastards! He grabbed a torch and while turning on himself went to the door. "This village is cursed, but I am going away and nothing you can do. ... YOU HEAR? . He tripped by pushing the door, his hand dived to keep it from slumping to the ground. He rose within a few uncertain steps and turned around, eyes bulging.
He laughed, a laugh awful nervous. "Oh ... Oh ... You did not have ... back! "It seemed
distinguish them now. These faces gaunt, scornful, who surrounded him.
"Rear" cried happens then he plunged into the woods, the torch forward.
His hand trembled, his arm swept before him as if he was feeling the dark. He turned sometimes hysterical fear of seeing them fall on her back and continued to move backwards. Until it hits a branch or he feels a draft and it was still running.
Lost. He drooled and spoke without himself does not understand what he mumbled. The cold had enveloped the torch and even lower. He began to run. A pack of disfigured faces, contemplative at his heels. He cursed the sun and the gods and ran. He ran until his lungs burst, as his legs betrayed him and then he ran again.