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  • Writer's pictureAkademie ghost

The Rock Climber Part I (wip)

At the edge of town where the feral hogs spray, just beyond a derelict hospital, there was an abandoned whaling station. The gerrymandering had cast the speechless into hiding, and inside the first of three outbuildings, at one end of a former giant gutting and processing table, under jammed winch, there was a light on. By the door a large group of hogs had homogenised, it moved like bacteria, prospecting for sustenance by casting out branches of its members until it found a food source, then these branches would turn into hog-highways, transporting food back to the central. They often ate cats, dogs, small rodents, but where particularly adept at taking down horses. Targeting formerly domesticated animals who, due to their abandonment, would be easy targets. The great branches of hogs became expert in quickly disembowelling and transferring the best organs back to the middle of the group to be consumed by those towards the top of the strict hierarchy. The branchers themselves feasted on skin and whatever was left, often bones whose marrow could be cracked or sucked out. The light inside went off and night drew itself over the blueish dusk. The morning brought a quiet, low hanging mist and with a loud creak the double doors of the first outbuilding swung open. The pools of rain water which had formed in the dirtied sand towards the slosh of the shore still resembled the vast pools of blood left by each slaughter, even though the last whale had been processed many years before. The crimson hue of the puddles and a constant earthy hum of iron, only added to the illusion. So stepping carefully felt essential in order to get safely from the shacks to the refuge of the enormous statues erected around the outskirts of town. Full climbing attire is essential; carabiners, screwgates, trilocks, holds, slings and belay plates along with a full complement of screw-on clips and cleats. Being high felt cerebral, like a head massage, one could think, time felt easier, but the sandstone statues were rotting in the salty wind and as they crumbled they took with them any possible refuge from the toe dissolving mud below. The bronze statues, are harder to climb, a drill is required to attach the hand and foot holds, often looted from the old climbing centre. The bronzes often offered the best vantage points and sleeping next to a metal which warms in the morning sun had become extremely desirable.

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