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

by. All in a fright looks I a-bout, and see a shape as stands in tween of trees. It is I’s mother. Lolls she with one hand to tree and looks to I. It is that good I tread more by of she, and seeing now she’s leg, and one of they is come to bloody string, with not a thing low of she’s turning-bone. Look I from stump to mother’s face. She’s look is vexed, as is she with no liking for I. Where is go I’s foot, she say.

At this, makes I a fright-noise, big and loud as casts I up in sky and out from dark, and falls I back in briar-cave, where is yet light. All in a quick is this, that I may glean not way of it. Hear I not rain, as he is go ways off, and stands I up and stoop in neath of hole, and like to this come out from bush.

All wheres is wet, and many rain-hole is now set in dirt. Wet rise up sniff of dirt and grass, and sniff of they is good, and strong, and is not old.

I is sniff not I’s shit. Rain, he is wet a-way I’s shit and now I sniffs it not, I’s shit that tree is where. That foot is where.

Runs I one way in bout of bush, now other, for that I may see where grass is flat, and like to this which path I come here by. Now see I as rain is fall hard, and all wheres flat down grass that path is not to find. In neath of trees runs I, and sniffs I no thing only grass. Now this way run, now that, by tree and briar, and make loud say to foot, and make loud say to mother. All a-bout, down ditch and up of rise with fur-grass thick on stones, and here falls I to dirt and glean not where of I.

No more is I see foot. Blood-berry bush is as like go, that I may find no more. In this way come I out there by, and walk in neath of many dark and bright, and all I’s walking is without a where of they.

Walk I on open grass and little river is I jump. Through trees walk I, with dry-up skins of they all bout I’s foot, and find a round of hut-fruit grow in grass, dark on they neath-edge as is good for eat. Whiles is go by and now find I no thing at all, and walk I on and find more no thing yet, and bright, and dark, and bright and dark.

Walk I where I may see not bove of grass, it is that high, and find I bird that is no more alive. I is that empty in I’s belly as to eat of he, yet is he all with worm. Now sick is come out mouth of I, and make I shit down legs, and bright, and dark, and walk.

Through many ice-whiles now, I’s people say, there is but little forage for to find, that whiles is hard for we as walk, and come they more hard yet. With ice-while after ice-while is there setting-people more, with many of we’s walking-people come more little, that we is not many now. With one all lone as I, it is an empty belly and no help for it.

One whiles, I come on setting-people in I’s walking, with they sharp-top huts of beast skin hung to branch, set high on hill. Huts is not many yet as finger on one hand of I. Sniffs I they’s fire, and of they’s fire-meats, which for in belly now I is with want.

Walks I up hill, and little ways up sees I man on top, and sees he I, with sick and blood on face, and shit on legs of I. Says he as how I look a-like with pig-arse, and what is I want of there, and like, and say of he is queer, with many sayings as I may not glean. An other man, more big in belly, come by now on top of hill, for look at I. In low of belly is he’s will all little, more as like to babe’s.

Now say I how I’s mother is not more alive, and how I’s people cast I out from they. Say I, I’s wanting is but little food, that I is with a thing in belly of I.

Men look now one at an other, and now little-will, he stoop for take up casting-stick. Here is a thing say he, and say how is I like it in I’s belly. Other man is take up stone, which cast he hard at I. Stone hit I’s leg, and sharp of he tear skin low of I’s knee, where is there blood. Make I a noise and is fall down, big hurt in leg of I. Man take he up an other stone, and say go off now, shit-arse, and say wants he not for sniff I more there by. Big belly man lift up he’s stick, for cast at I.

Now stands I up, with hurt in leg, and make a queer-tread walk down hill, like to a sicking dog. In hind of I, man cast he’s other stone, yet hit I not, with stone fall quiet to grass. Walks I quick as I may, and looks not back, and that is all of it, I’s while with setting-kine.

On walk I slow, and dragging foot in hind of I. With come of dark is find I tree where titty-apples grow. They is yet hard, and little may I eat of they. Look I to hurt of leg and see as blood is dry with grey dirt and with shit, that blood come out no more, and that is good. Lie I by tree and shut of eyes that none may see I. Glean of no thing.

Bright come, more to walk. Leg is now