Monday, May 07, 2007

Bloor Line, always sleepy and questionably bathed.

Caucasian male, early 30s, with short black hair slicked back, wearing a rumpled black suit, black dress shirt, black tie and black shoes. White sport socks peek out from the cuff of his flooded pants.

Red Dragon, Thomas Harris (Dell)

Page 215:

Lounds wore nothing but his shorts and a gag and blindfold. Though he was only semiconscious, he did not slump. He sat up very straight, his head against the high back of the old oak wheelchair. From the back of his head to the soles of his feet he was bonded to the chair with epoxy glue.

He skips dinner two nights in a row, promising his mother that he's eaten already. He closes his bedroom door and sits on the edge of his bed, bracing his feet against the door, getting as far as he can. Lights out, he rolls a sweater and places it along the bottom of his door, waking at 4 am, book on the floor; he's lost his spot. Never has he read this quickly. Never has he read something he wanted so badly, so scared that someone would come and take it from him. He doesn't want to have to explain that he doesn't like the horror, the humiliation; he just can't believe that someone has been allowed to think this way in public, on paper, for the world to see.

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