Sleep is fitful and only possible after the exhaustion of constant shifting around and adjusting the stones that are my bed. It feels like my body has been covered in blows - the rocks are bruising me. Its getting colder. The sun is lower, It beams through a window and illuminates the details of what hovers above me. I am one of those web bound carcasses. As it darkens, the chirps and squishes begin -- shadowy flutters of darting fantoms swirl above me. They seem to be attracted by my presence -- often diving at me and bombing me with their droppings. The smell grows fouler by the day, my toilet is my bed. In the beginning he would come and stand over me, staring, pissing, playing with himself. Today, when he brought me the slop, he was wearing a gas mask. The everyday chores of the grounds are much more interesting as I allow my mind to wander to that creature entombed in my barn. It is less distracting of late because of the stink, and I now must face the task of cleaning it. I have prepared a platform based on the designs I have seen at the county fair, A grooming table that holds her wrist and ankles so she is on all fours. For days I have been content with just knowing that it
