Thomas's Madalyne: A Short Story

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After the battle had finished, the carcasses flooded the tunnels where Thomas fled and out to the opening where the battle had begun. The bodies banked in drifts that waxed and waned from ceiling to floor. He had survived solely on sheer positioning, limiting the numbers of attackers he fought all at once in the onslaught, but he was not unblemished. Now that his adrenaline was fleeting, he felt it in his ribs, his shoulders, and his left leg. He had taken many direct blows. Thomas crawled by way of feel alone, sightless through the decrepit decayed sludge and waste and bile of his enemies to where he had last seen the vision of his Madalyne. The ancient meat against his body as he slid himself along felt like a snot-like leather concoction.
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