NEW WRITING:

He wiped his face clear. Sweat, bile, piss and more - it all went the same way, his face was suddenly clear. He opened his eyes, saw nothing, then opened his eyes again - nothing. He shrugged, flicked his fingers within a nervous habit, tapped his neat thighs, cricked his neck - side to side, checked his feet were still stable, then moved slowly and solidly forward. It always takes time to come out of these, he told himself, comforted himself. He moved his hips sweetly, a little from side to side - he liked it. He had always liked the way his body moved, the way it always seemed to function - despite what he did to it, sometimes what others did to it - it was dependable, sure, sweet. So he moved slowly forward on naked feet, the gravel stones denting and puncturing his soles, but he didn't mind. His face was clear, and his hips moved sweetly.