with various insignia.My chipped and sordid nails skim across my scalp. Sleep comes easily. The dog is transfixed. He is poised and ready as he prepares the slow stalk upon his unwary prey. He creeps as close as possible. Paw by paw, foot by foot, he gets closer.The young grouse begins to run along the heather, its woolly feet falling underneath it as it flaps its small drooping wings and begins to rise through the cool air. The dog is close; his rich, brown coat ripples with athletic muscle. His pace quickens, his legs cycling underneath his powerful frame, and then, with one almighty effort, it is grasped. His robust jaws crush the dumpy bird’s soft chest. The bird flutters faintly as the last wisps of life drip and trickle from him. The boy sprints over and picks up the bleeding bird from the dog’s mouth.They are now at the top of the moor, bathed in rich, warm sunlight. The boy and his dog now run down into the town. There is no longer a frosty breeze. The clouds have broken and the sun is spilling its warm bounty down upon the land.The dog is calm.The boy’s skin glows and he stands tall. After passing the newsagents, the pub and the butcher they return home; here the boy takes his knife to the loose, warm bird. He takes a rusted pan and heats the bird slowly, occasionally and precariously stabbing at it with a fork. When he feels the meat slide easily from the bone the carcass is given to the eager dog.The boy hears the fervent slaps of the dog’s long tongue on the metal. Afterwards the dog retires to his bed, calm and contented. The skeleton of the door stands before me. Arteries of light crawl underneath it, inwards and upwards.The windows fog up fast, steamhisses from the head and hot, lucid water penetrates my scalp. It is very dark. Rhythms resonate in my head but outside this cerebral fortress all that resonates is the incessant splatter of hot water on cool slate. I stop the shower. Now
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