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 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. “Look.” Her eyes darted sideways and her jaw just about dropped. She hadn’t seen it before but the girl was stroking the man’s cock beneath his pants as they kissed. “No way.” “Looks like they had the same idea.” She let his hand stay on her breast. His fingers found her nipple and tweaked it. She ground her sex down, wanting him to know she was on board with his plans. They watched, seemingly for many minutes as the couple’s efforts became more vigorous. The man groped the woman’s chest. His head dipped so he could lick her cleavage. She worked at something in his lap. Mary assumed she was getting the man’s cock out. The woman’s arm pumped. Mary giggled, thinking the man wasn’t as gifted as her companion, at least as far as size went. Mary’s friend squeezed her tit. His free hand wrapped around her waist and held her thigh. She could feel his cock stiffen beneath her weight. He felt thick. There was a moan or something from the other couple, from whom Mary couldn’t tell. The.
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