He’s grabbed me again, spat on his fingers. Dirtying me more. He’s shoved me in a bag. Dark. Pushing me around. How long this time? I don’t want this.
‘Scott. Here!’
‘Yessir?’
He takes me out of the bag and hurls me on the table. Why does he always hurl me? What can’t he just put me on it?
‘Read this. Open to the marker.’
‘Sir.’
This one grabs, too. Dry fingers. Doesn’t make much difference. Pulls at me. Tears at me.
’Sir, is this what you mean?’
‘Indeed. Paraphrase.’
’This indicates the solar path fluctuates not just north-south but that solstices fluctuate backwards through the zodiac.’
His fingernail scratches my face. I wish he would stop!
‘Correct.’
‘Sir, may I ask where this originates?
‘The Hellinikis acquired such from the Hwtka-Ptah.’
Shoved back in the bag. This awful smelly bag! Leave me alone, please leave me alone!