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by
As I lay here, staked out in the middle of the forest clearing, I keep asking myself, how did I let this happen? Why didnšt I notice sooner that something was seriously wrong?
Why couldnšt I work it out?
I canšt move my head, itšs being held by a leather band pegged in the ground on either side. I can hear though, and smell. Therešs a fire, about a metre to my left, my hand is nearer it and can feel the warmth. Itšs hot, and therešs metal being heated in it.
I can hear him now. Hešs still mumbling quietly, I canšt hear him properly, the roar of the fire is deafening.
I donšt know why I didnšt fight him. No, thatšs a lie, but I donšt know why I let him do this without a single word of protest.
Hešs gone fully primitive on me. He was speaking Chopec before, I think he was anyway. Hešs wearing tribal paint, and keeps chewing some herb or other. Išm sure it canšt be doing him any good in this state, hešs already raving about lights and the patterns of life.
I can hear him still, now sharpening one of the knives. I canšt help but shudder as I wonder what he plans to cut with it. I keep hoping that something in him will wake up. Hešs never hurt me before, not physically.
He moves next to me and leans down. His eyes are unfocused, pupils dilated. Great, hešs stoned as well as crazy.
He smiles gently and strokes my face. He lets me sit up a little, enough to pour a foul tasting liquid down my throat. I choke on it slightly, itšs bitter, therešs some strange herb in it thatšs causing my body to relax and numb.
Išm falling unconscious now, I can feel the blackness pressing on me. Išm fighting it as hard as I can, but I canšt keep going.
As my vision fails, I feel soft lips press on mine, and a hand stroke my face, reassuring me me despite my predicament.
As I fall into unconsciousness, I feel hot metal press into me, and I realise that this time, nothing is going to stop this. My best friend, the man I love, has finally lost his mind.
Blair Sandburg is gone. My guide has been lost.
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