As Angelica opened up her eyes, she shuddered in fear at the massive animal that was holding her and fondling her body. I have been captured by a Bigfoot, she thought. The natives were right. There are Bigfoots in the jungles of Elysia. Her body stiffened as she tried to twist away and out of the imprisoning arms of the massive creature that was holding her capture.
To hear Camrose tell of it, as he often does and in excruciating detail, his early years were tantamount to a parallel Dickensian universe inasmuch as every meal was boiled down to gruel. (Please sir, I don’t want any more.) Whatever vegetables the commune were able to come by through barter, theft or scavenging – though oddly not from a community garden which no one had ever thought to plant – were tossed into a pot with a few heaping scoops of lentils and a handful of curry powder, then boiled down until thick and grayish brown. The resulting semi-solid porridge landed in the bowl with a wet thump reminiscent of raw liver smacking the floor and forced its way to the stomach with an angry lurch. Invalids fed through feeding tubes found more satisfaction in their daily bread than young Camrose.