The shadow of a slender, well-curved woman filled his vision and the glitter of the slowly focusing lights blinked from view as she crossed ahead of him.

He tried to shake the fugg from his head and wondered where the hell he was; who the hell she was. Something had happened to his feet. They felt really heavy but also, not there. Had he lost them?

“He’s waking,” she said. To whom he couldn’t work out, but she crouched in front of his seated frame, took his chin in hand and raised his face to hers. Green eyes like a northern leopard. He couldn’t quite focus but the unplaceably familiar smell of her filled his brain. Where the fuck was he?

“Put him back down,” she said.

“Venice,” he thought. “Venezia. Venetiae.”

But was that her name or where he was.

“Venice; Vidice; Vicice… Conquered.” Or was it what he was.

Behind him a second shadow swung its arm and the thud of weighted leather cracked across his skull.

This piece inspired by an Elephant Words image originally posted at http://elephantwords.co.uk/2015/05/03/may-03rd-image-2015/.

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George London

Often musician, sometime projectbloke, occasional table, sporadic writer, serial traveler, irregular designer, internet addict with OCLD.

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