The Captive, in thrall

Almost a year from the day he saw his “tiny dancer”, he still struggles to bury the image, and sees this as a strange and fascinating illness of the soul.

Am I weak? Evil? Insane, to let this affect me thus?
Has my life been so devoid of joy that I see, every day, the afterimage of this flicker of brightness?

He thinks he has been a fool, and would be justly held to ridicule if another soul ever knew of this.

And so…I need help from someone.  NO.  I will conclude this myself.  There will be a way to find her.  Ask some embarrassing questions, perhaps expose my desperation, if only it will come to the point of seeing her once more, just to tell her…..what?  That I’ve been in thrall to her image for a year?  It matters not.  I must do it.

His resolve hardens.  He gets into his car and heads out the wintry road, not knowing what he will do at his destination.  Thoughts are running, running, running, as on a treadmill.  This is dangerous.

Halfway now, halfway, when the thing happens to him, an electrical feeling up the back of his neck, vision going grey, then black unconsciousness.

for background on this, see
and for final story see

From Thralldom to Salvation


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