Crawford only smiles as he grabs holder of her sleeve. He hadn’t noticed it before, but he was starving, desperate for food and nourishment. And Lucy smells so good. Gingerly, he opens his mouth, and brushes his teeth against her throat, his smile only widening at her whimpers.
Awake. Vague images, feelings, sounds and emotions dissipate, like a dream escaping conscious memory. His eyes open, and stare blindly into the blackness. Soil. It covers him from head to foot, the weight of the dry earth pushing down on his chest. The dusty odour is overpowering. His eyes snap shut, but it’s too late: the dirt has already trickled past his eyelids, stinging his moist eyeballs.
I’m alive, he thinks. I’m actually alive.
She isn’t particularly good-looking, he thinks. Plain.
Reassuringly, he feels it.
He feels it. Reassured, he sighs and lowers his hands
You will do as a I say!
he grabs hold of her sleeve