Hellmouth - prologue


We reckoned within our prideful heads that the river would never rise, and this path would never see a foreign pair of boots. Never.

So when I came back the next day and saw that a fucker, the first one to my right, nailed to a tree, as he would be for the few sunny days still,
"a badly flea-bitten sack of shit", soakin' n' lolling lazy-like up to its haunches in the water.

So... I thought...spat...

So what?

Kneeled down, smelled the air. Nothing there but the pines.

The same as always. A bit higher. The stream. Dragged my cup in the water until I got rid of the coffee stains on it.

Had my fill. Tasted different.

But still the same...