The Dark Forest: Literature, Philosophy, and Digital Arts
I cannot say I’m a bitter man, I think it goes much deeper than that and escapes such notions of emotion as hate and anger; it’s something else, something more primal, locked into one’s life like two pit bulls cornered in rage, slung into a cage or dug hole without escape, left to fend for themselves, enact what they’ve been bred for all these many years: to fight, to kill, to silence the rage in their own hearts till it bleeds out into the black earth. I’m that pit bull in the cage, and I’m not bleeding enough.
Lobelia Leblanc lived somewhere in that hinterland of my mind where everything I hold precious and dear moves in its own paradisial light. That’s the way it would stay. Yet, something had come along one day and snatched it up, taken it off into a place it did not want to go, into a darkness so dark that…
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