Something was crawling up through the earth. It sang in a dead language or a non-language. It knew not what it sang but Gregor knew what he heard. He heard promise and hope and excuses, always excuses.
Gregor peered into the monitor, the text blurred into a dizzying wallpaper, and instead listened. He began with some easy ones.
"Why did we lose?"
The response an excuse.
"How hard did you try?"
That reply again.
"How is she?"
The voice was taking the piss. He tried a harder one.
"What did I do?"
There may have been hesitation, or perhaps not, but the reply was delivered once again. He struck the desk harder than intended and cursed into the screen as he squeezed his knuckle with the other hand. Looking down he found the skin torn. He peeled the flap off and blood began to ooze around the edges. For a moment he forgot where he was and began to rise but the voice caught his attention and he sat back. While he waited the blood dried and the ache faded.
Something was crawling up through the earth. It sang in a dead language or a non-language. It knew not what it sang but Gregor knew what he heard.
"What should I do?"
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