He was sleeping, surely. He found himself in a midnight world full of squeaks and squeals, grunts, bumps, crashes. He was running, hurtling, through some sort of forest. The trees, if indeed they were trees, were all identical – tall, incredibly slender, radiating or reflecting a faint glimmer of moonlight. The tops were so far above him, he could not make them out.
The banging and crashing was behind him now. He was running from the noise. Not frightened though, but exhilarated. He was tormenting whoever, whatever, was behind him. He wanted to laugh. Instead he snorted, snuffled.
Suddenly he burst from cover. He was in a wide rolling landscape of steel and slate. The moon above was cruelly bright. It revealed his nakedness. His willy, flopping on his belly. He tried to cover it with his hand, but either his hand was too clumsy or his willy too slippery. It kept writhing from his grasp. He heard laughter like the tinkle of frost falling on ice. He looked round in panic, his own breath sawing at his throat. Saw Amelia. Saw Richard. Saw—
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