Page 318 - TheRedSon_PrintInterior_430pp_5.5x8.5_9-22-2019_v1
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structure, looking down into the hallway outside. The ruined
            hunter I abandoned to the heating vent was slowly expiring
            to the rasp of his own fading breath, and the wheezing had
            the pleasant effect of concentrating the attention of the other
            hunters. They were gathering like shadows at dusk, lurking
            the  hidey  holes  about  the  hallway.  I  sought  out  the  fat
            knot of electrical organs that supplied the hallway with its
            grubby effulgence. When the hunters discovered each other
            and began to emerge from the shadows, my sister severed
            the lights, and I retired from the ceiling to the blacked-out
            spaces beneath me.
                An infant silence was born into the spaces left behind
            by the din of our violence, revealing a gory chimera, spread
            wide and red upon the floor, made from the severed forms of
            a dozen victims. I moved beyond the coagulating hallway,
            covered in the paints and clays of my craft, hoping to
            discover even greater bounties of murder and men.
               I was additionally excited over the discovery I’d made
            while piecing together my latest art piece. I realized not a
            one of them were Wolves. These crazed knife-wielders and
            gunfighters were something altogether different and equally
            wonderful—White Wigs,  or  just Wigs,  as  I’d  heard  them
            called.  They were of course the unfortunate survivors of
            attempts to recover memories of the Great Darkness using
            hypnosis. Generally, such persons died during the process,
            the strain of recalling such unmitigated madness causing their
            hair to turn winter white and producing a facial expression
            that  outlined  a fear incapable  of being halted  by human
            heads.  Yet  there  had  been  cases,  however  infrequently,
            of individuals surviving the hypnotical process, if not the
            general aesthetic changes that were so often associated with
            it.  These  persons were invariably  raving  lunatics,  loudly
            expressing the side effects of senselessness as they ran naked
            and bleached through the world. To find one such creature
            was  rare,  but  to  find  so  many  as  had  attacked  me—and
            working together, besides—was completely unheard of. Yet
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