"The heart of a man to the heart of a maid,
Light of my tents be fleet,
Morning awaits at the end of the world,
And the world is all at our feet."
-Rudyard Kipling (1885-1936)
PART 1: "TOWARDS THE PLUME"
Luke lifted his heavy sneaker out of the muddy sand and sunk it back into the bog in front of the other. With every step the sludge held onto his foot tightly, releasing it only after a game of tug-of-war. It had been like that for hours (thwump! as he pulled his waterlogged boot out and shlump! as he stuck it back in). He'd lost all feeling in his toes. And now his legs felt like they were dragging boulders.
And where there is fire, Luke reasoned, there is something for it to consume.
(c) Copyright Eugene Gramelis, 2010