They tore at each other, taking small gouges of flesh from their hindquarters and their sides. Blood flowed down their legs and pooled on the ground. As they lunged at each other again and again, trying to rip each other's throat out, people began handing over coins as the ersatz bookies began taking bets. No one thought to stop the fight, Yakhir noticed. Eventually one dog gave a terrible yelp and sat down on his hindquarters, paralyzed. Yakhir turned away but the sounds of violent death pounded his eardrums. Onlookers cheered or jeered as a champion made the killing strike. He was afraid that he was the one bleeding in that ring.He straightened his back and squared his shoulders. With a shake of his head to clear his thoughts, Yakhir made his way down the mountain road and into the center of town. His young companion had to keep jogging every little bit or so to keep up with the striding man. The archivist's shirt was not buttoned high and the sun reflected off of the key that hung. Granted, the floor was still rough hardwood and the paint was chipping, but there was a luminosity here that was really unnerving. Windows on each outside wall were covered by dusty ivory blinds that filtered the light but didn't block it.As soon as I walked through the doorway, I felt a heaviness within the room, a presence that was overpowering, as if someone was already here. There was no one though; there wasn't even a closet where anyone could hide.My feet moved unwillingly until I was standing in the center of the room. I had put my hands up involuntarily as if trying to push away from what I felt pulling me forward. Everything around me grew dim, even the sounds in the background. It was a feeling like an all-over caress, not by hands, but by something fluid; submerging in warm water. I was not afraid. I felt coaxed, seduced into relaxing and opening my mind. What I saw then should've terrified me. It does now that I look back on it, but at the time, I had no fear.I knew there.
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