Six lines instead of three in this installment.
The fumes of alcohol mingled with the pink clouds of mist and left his head clear but empty—he still had no idea where he was, up or down, dead or alive.
Somewhere, everywhere, coarse laughter reverberated and he remembered the whispering voice, the hand that shoved, and he searched the air for a face—instead he found a gull.
Don’t take any notice of him, the gull said, banking off into the scintillating cloud, just follow me.
“How?” he asked, immediately feeling stupid, but raising hands that dripped molten bronze.
Fly! The voice came back to him, muffled by the mist and fading, but he found himself spreading his bronze-dripping arms that became long, bronze-feathered arms, and beating the misty air in pursuit of the gull.
Liquid bronze and pink cloudy air vibrated with a roar of anger that he knew came from the mocking presence, but before fear could take hold of his wing beats, the gull wheeled about, fixed him with a bright, black eye and winked.