- Vol. 04
- Chapter 11
I try to hide my eyes, to see but not be seen, to watch steadfastly. Nothing escapes me so I am dangerous with a quiet power that others consider as strange and would covet if they understood. As it is, they suspect me and they stand back, afraid of my body that rots with pox. At least, that's the story, and it protects me. At night in their cups, they forget me and speak loose words. I hover, between the cacti, wrapped tight against spikes and cold winds in rough, red wool. I remember everything and clutch my knife, my Mexican blade stained with tongue's blood, ripped from the honest ox for my sour supper.