I remember running through the snow, I remember the voices and the barking of dogs behind me. I remember falling, though I don’t remember being captured. My cellmate tells that I was bleeding from the head when they tossed me in here.
I don’t think I’m in danger of being eaten: they’re not sure enough about what I am. I think they’ve sent for someone important, so that a judgment can be made.
I haven’t seen another human. My cellmate with the dog-face calls me a ‘naked monkey.’ Our captors are tall, red, horns, the works. I’m not very optimistic.
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