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She wasn't actually snoring but I wouldn't have been too surprised if she started, as she seemed to be sleeping so soundly.I figured that I should concentrate on keeping Dad awake as it probably wouldn't be too good if he dozed off while driving. To this end I leant forward with my chin on my folded arms, resting on the back of the front seat, and chatted quietly with Dad about a wide range of subjects, trying not to wake Mom. Because of the heat all I was wearing was my shorts and underwear, Dad still had a tee-shirt on with his shorts and Mom appeared to be lightly dressed as well. When she shifted uncomfortably in her seat I looked down to see if she was OK and discovered just how lightly she was, in fact, dressed.The top of her smock type dress had gaped open and I had a clear view down it and could completely see the whole of one breast and the side-swell of the other one. I couldn't take my eyes of this wonderful sight and I am pretty sure that I began to babble to Dad but he. 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 mouth and my tongue unconsciously seeks it. More splashes on my nose, cheeks, chin, dribbles harmlessly past me. Too much blood. The flow of essence behind it is weak. I reach out without thinking, push some back. Cut off the flow. I am weak but that much I can still do. A true healing is beyond my skill but I push energy into the cut, scab it over.I don't breathe. Essence is life, produced by life, and I am not alive. No heartbeat. No vitriol raging round my system bringing vitality to my extremities. With so little I am grey and clammy, my movements stiff. The thirst rises up and urges me to snatch back the wrist as it is withdrawn, I fight it down. Now isn't the time to lose control. I grasp the edge of my prison and lever myself upright.It is a very different group.
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