You Nameless SCUM

Your head feels heavy as you lift it from a pool of your own puke. The soil under your fingers is cold; the air is dry and hot. You stand up and lean against the rocky walls of the cave. The only light source is a bonfire at its center. The cinders are black, and only a few flickers keep the charred logs burning. A pair of figures painted on the bare rock glimmer in the darkness, a woman and a wei…