"Broke Down Interim"

#0068. Anywhere can be the tomb. Anywhere can be the prison. He breaks from traveling long enough to look into the clouded windows. Abandoned. Empty rooms. Tables overturned. Chairs smashed. The ghosts of revelry. The door is locked, but loose on its hinges. He has spent too many days in the wilderness. The wilderness is a boundless prison, he thinks. When you are separated from your god, all things are a prison. All space is a tomb. He lies among the wreckage. He stares into the crumbling plaster of the ceiling. Aged things crawl into him. The ghosts are dust and cobweb. He stares into the crumbling plaster of the ceiling.