As it turns out, the darkness isn’t quite complete. The power light of the camera casts just enough illumination to bathe the scene in a weird green, albeit, blinking glow. Once my eyes adjust, I can see enough to manage.

Manage in this case means, seeing well enough to piss over the side into the water without falling in. Still, several hours later… I think… I’ve concluded that I truly am a prisoner. With no sense of day or night, my sense of time is already drifting.

Perhaps it’s been longer than that…

I’m not sure…

My immediate physical reaction is to sleep: the body’s age-old defence against reality. And I don’t even realise I’m drifting off until, with a start, I wake up, jerking up against a crick in the neck where I’d nodded off with my chin on my chest.

What woke me?

Movement in the dark…

On the limit of my circle of light, a pair of rats are polishing off the remains of Juliana’s

Sola’s?

…empanadas. One sits on its haunches, nibbling into a circle of pastry.

Some version of the snack can be found in every country I’ve ever visited. In India, it would be a samosa. In England, a sausage roll or cornish pasty. The Chinese would offer you a vegetable roll.

It’s street food. Finger food. Right now,

their treat and go. Warily, I watch them. Within a few minutes, they’ve cleared the scatter of crumbs and, nose-to-tail,

helped. My panic has dispersed and the

In fact, I’m hungry.

floor. I don’t want to consider what I’m sitting on. Even less

not quite that

Yet.

Time to think…

*****

Michael

last barrow-load. After a dozen return trips to ‘The Heap’, I’m glowing with heat, dripping with sweat and smelling more of manure than manhood. The ground

them green and

only to get away from

over, I rub away a fragment of straw that

you a

a mug in either hand, the steam rather more

Babe. I was just coming

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