In which Burgher Russ refuses to ponder pulp polling
Leaves and branches pressed against Burgher Russ's face as he eased his way forward past years of growth. Beneath his feet were the moulding remnants of torn-out self-help quizzes and posters from years before. There were a lot of them, now rotting, and left for snails to eat, digest and leave to crumble, feeding the shrubs and small trees that blocked his path.
The house itself was solidly but hastily constructed, but long disused. Like a student rental, left to rot after its tenants left.
Ther was nothing for the Burgher here. But he knew that, from the time he'd gathered his remaining possessions. What had attracted him was the faint sound of music from a nearby dwelling. Not for the music, though he yearned company, and was vaguely intrigued by the idea of Japanese schoolgirls playing hard rock, he could sense that direction offered no way home. To get home, he needed something else: a junction...
A Burgher in Absentia
10th August, 2011 00:49:42