into kotaom : a novel by david faylin | [home]
Dolourish Prime Minister Tristeza Borrada. HoD Awaits You.
Nessus tore back Borrada’s smock again, palming his damp shoulder backwards. “Derelict! Nobody wanted you in the Dáil, did they? Fact is, nobody wanted you at all, anywhere; poor, disavowed child; unwanted; not a body to pity him.”
“Go ahead and burn me; impotent. Go ahead. Burn me!”
Nessus drew his knuckles hard across Borrada’s cheek, hard enough to spatter sweat up the wall. Geryon pulled him away.
Borrada was head-down, half-naked and nose to the confetti of rosary-writing scraps piled on his floor. It was a place from where he acknowledged his hopelessness in seeking comfort and in accepting these paper pieces as that comfort.
He could hear the vials uncorked. He waved his hands, blocking. “I don’t want your religious serum.” Urgency gave his voice a pitch. “Don’t give me any drug of conviction. I have my conviction pulsating in me.”
[the above is an excerpt from Into Kotaom]
