Are We Human?
By: DogWorks
Prologue
… I slip the poisoned drink into his hand. Slowly. Slowly. Slowly, so he won't feel it. Or see me. Why do we do it to ourselves? Why do we men pride for our alcohol? He doesn't feel the glass slip through his fingers, being switched by mine, the poisoned one.
…The Egyptian guard opens his eyes, looks into the glass, and frowns. He doesn't think his wives'll be happy if he comes home this morning drunk. Oh well. He shrugs, tilts the glass towards his mouth and welcomes the dark crimson drink flow through his parched mouth. He finishes his drink and refills from the pitcher on the table next to him, a gift from his employer for the fact that there were never escapes on any of his shifts. Because the prisoners are afraid of me, he thinks, burping, then smiling at his muscular arms. Because I'm too smart for their dim-witted minds. He toasts himself, and drinks some more.
…Darkness. The cloak that silences all. The cloak that scares and frightens. The cloak that's of plenty. The cloak is there. Where no one dares to travel to. The cloak is there. Under seas and over mountains. The cloak of doom. The cloak of death. The cloak of the unknown. The cloak of darkness. The cloak of Dancer.
And sometimes I get nervous when see an open door. Close your eyes, clear your heart.
…Jump.
Cut the chord.
…Land.
Are We Human? Or Are We Dancer?
…Run.
My sign is vital, my hands are cold.
…Run.
