“All you do all day and night long is to repeat your story in songs.  The first time, all repeat after you.”


“All those already within Belchiore’s entrails.”


“After you’ve told you story, you get to repeat the first story that was ever told from within Belchiore and you move on to the next story, and so on until a new creature arrives.  Then, the whole process begins again.  It is endless.”

“Good for memory,” Labaguette continues, “but can you sing?”

“Belchiore’s hunger knows no bounds,” the Commander says, “the clamour inside her is relentless.  You can’t shut it down.  It grips you from within and never lets go of you.  You can’t sleep, you can’t eat and you can’t think because your head, well…”


They can all see the Commander quivering at the mere thought of what he is about to say.

“It is known to all those condemned to after life in Belchiore, that your mind feels like there are vultures in it sharing the last remnants of troubled memories and pangs of guilt which linger inside your head, and that once those fragments have been consumed, they come back again to the surface of your conscience with added strength and with more added onto to it and this, ceaselessly.  You can’t think, all you do is feel the consequences of your thoughts and that of others.  Your head appears to be persistently set to explode at any time and yet, it never really does, just as much as you might want it to… all that noise, all these songs, all these words, wicked deeds, vultures and—.”

“—May be some heads do explode?” Labaguette asks.

“Maybe?” the King continues.

“You, psychopaths!” the Captain retorts.

To be continued…


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