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2.
"Don't - it burns. Stop it!"
"Will?"
"I'm burning! I'm burning all up!"
"Will!!!"
My eyes flew open, startled by the touch of fingertips on my eyelids. Shreds of
the nasty nightmare made me all fearful and I cringed into a ball.
"Bloody hell Will! You were dreaming again! Screaming the whole doss-house
together!"
"I think he crapped himself in bed. Dear Lord, the smell of it!"
Mocking laughter rose from the other side of the room. I grunted and tossed
around on my straw mattress, then dragged myself up reluctantly. The dark and
dank room swayed. Watery morning light pierced through the dirty window, and
outside, the tower of the St. Giles rose out of the yellow fog like the peak of
a faraway mountain.
"At least he said he was burning. I got my belly full of his mad screams
about drowning and being all wet and so on. It's fine when a girl says it to
you, but it's totally different thing when one of your mates starts talking
like that."
Another screech of haughty laughter. Bradbury I reckon. Bloody Oxbridge accent,
even when the old goat was merely breathing. It sent shockwaves of pain into
the intoxicated mush that used to be my brains.
"Are you done yet?" I asked Higgins, who was sitting on his cot with
his back to the wall. He was busy plucking dirt underneath his toenails with
his fingers, dropping the disgusting crusts on his bed. The grand potbelly and
the large, fleshy arms and legs were not getting in each other