This is all an hallucination. I am currently strapped in to a dentist’s chair, in my old neighbourhood, having hallucinogenic compounds drip-fed directly in to my eyeballs.
A small Swiss town, a river running through its centre: A green river through a red town. Fast and slow at once; ancient and modern.
The kitchen was well stocked, and I cooked us the first of what we hoped would be many meals in the peace and calm of our new-found bolt-hole. The larder had been stocked well, and we put any thoughts of cannibalism from our minds.
Kinetic pathways through the course of the evolutionary diet showed that our ascendency was of planetary need.
The Outpost is kind. Its benevolence shines like a beacon: a Beacon.
The wound on my arm has clotted at last, and I have time to breathe again. I sit in the cool of the sheltered cloister and work my way through another bottle of wine.
Winged bestiality; aerial barbarism; malign and aloft.