Blank. Slow decay, a winding-down wound backward, wound up again, the memory of a closing dark, descent, and then—he woke to un-startled flesh, a flicker of oxygen drawn easily, slowly through the throat—relief, first, dizzying profound relief, breathing, the intense joy of lungs perfused with air where no air had been able to come— (he had been on the floor, on the floor and choking, the carpet-pile pressed into his cheek, and now his cheek was on something cold) A breath, slower still, drugged-slow— (—not his cheek, the lungs too small, the body narrow and brittle-bright with youth and
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