Voice of the Fire by Alan Moore (essential reading txt) 📕

back on mother’s face, off cheek of she and slow ways off in tween of grass and flowers. Lift I a stone, and neath of he is many worm. Dig I now sharp of mother’s axe-stone tween of they, and of they many make more many yet. I blood I’s fingers in I’s digging. Blood on mother’s stone, now. Blood in mother’s hole.

I’s people stand they bout of hole on one foot, now on other, wanting but that they is go ways off from here, that they is on with they’s big round and walking edge of world a-bout from ice-while on to ice-while, finding prickle-rat, and pig, and chewing-root.

Sun walk high bove of we, with sky-beasts run a-fore of he, in fright that he may hot they all a-ways to no thing only sky. I dig, and Gleaner-man come vexed at slow of I and say hold now, and say as low of hole is good, and like, yet is I not but belly-low in hole. Say he, jump out and cast she down.

Out comes I, grey to knees with dirt, and look to she. No thing but white. No thing but bare, and quick is all go out from she. Take I one tread, at which an other follow. Grey like dirt she’s hair. Make quick of it, say feather-arse, and come now, take she up, and like. Takes I an other tread, and this way come she by.

Stoop, for to take she’s foot. She is more cold now, and no bright is on she. Lift I mother’s legs, all white on top, and see that neath of she is dark, as full with blood. Pulls I, at which move she a little ways from rain-hole, dragging hair like water-grass in hind of she, and makes a fart. Like to this is we come by hole, I and I’s mother. Cast she in, say feather-arse, and cover up of she.

I cast she in. There is not bigness in of hole for she. One leg stand up, in bove of edge, that I may not push down. I cover she, and grey I’s hands in dirt, that dirt fall in she’s eyes, in mouth, in belly-hole, and now she’s face is go, and now she’s arms and titties go, and now is she but one white foot stand out, which puts I dirt a-bout, and push it soft and grey to toes of she. Tread I down dirt, and feather-arse set mother’s axe-stone by of hole, at other edge from where dirt rise bout of she’s foot, like to a piss-mite’s hill.

Say I, now she is put to dirt, and we may journey on for find of prickle-rat, and pig, and chewing-root. And now I’s people look an other way, and is with quiet in they. And now at I, old feather-arse, he makes an eye. And shake he’s head.

And sign for no.

All lone set I by mother’s foot. I’s people is not by I now, and far ways off is they, neath trees and cross of hill, and go, and come here back no more. Grey dirt on of I’s hands and feet is dry, hard, as I may scratch off in little bits. Dirt that I push a-bout of mother’s foot is like come hard, and bits fall off. I see she toes, and now in dirt as fall from they, I see a shape as like to no-toes. Mother.

Now an other gleaning is with I, in which a dark he come and I is set by mother’s foot with not a where for journey to. All whiles is I with mother, and is not with want for go way from she now, and yet a hurt is in I’s belly as say other like to this. Set I there whiles and glean not if to go nor keep here by.

Stand I, walk I ways off and back, now set, now more to stand and walk. Jump I on dirt, and hit I tree and tear of grass, and many things is say at mother’s foot. Set I and move I not, and off in dark is noise of fire-tail dog in grass, and herd-dogs cross of hills. A-fright is I, and hurt in belly is come more. Make I a shit by tree, in tween of roots, and shit is like to water.

First bright come, and belly empty. Say I, foot, keep here by. I is go ways off for forage, after which come I here back with food for we. Now foot is quiet, as if for say that she is all whiles hearing like to this, yet no whiles sees it’s doing. Walks I slow from she, and many trees off stop, and look I back, and there is foot. Lift arm of I and sign for all is good, and walk I on.

Trees come more little tween of they, and briar is come more. I follows path in bout of briar, where looks I back and sees not foot, but may I find she yet by sniffing shit of I, and I is not with fright. Walk on, through tree, and briar, and like.

As gleans I now, it is while I is come on blood-berries as first rain fall, hard like to many sky-beasts all a-piss. Quick stoop I neath of hole in berry-bush, and come there in, where is a briar-cave. There set I dry, and many of they blood-berries is eat. Out of I’s cave is rain fall hard, yet in of he is quiet and little bright, and in I’s belly is there good. Now rub I berry-blood off chin. Shut eyes, lick hand, and hear to rain.

Now is a while in which no gleanings come, which after all comes queer. I is no more in briar-cave. I is in neath of trees, and all is dark but where white-wood stands bright. How dark is come that quick I may not glean, nor how that is I come here