Benjy loved Atse, in that foolish drunk way they sang about in songs. For a long time, he knew that love would kill him.
There could only be gloom at the end of this love, too good to be true.
When it began he wasn’t too surprised. He simply did what they asked. Knelt, stripped, lay in his sweat and tears, when they demanded. Atse stood next to him, recording it. Each time he begged, they kicked him in the mouth. But his pleas were simply formality. Something he knew he was meant to do. He knew he would die.



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