Calling Up (Rite of Passage 2/2)

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[Continued from Part 1]

I wake up, not quite able to remember how I got here, or how long I’d been asleep. I’m not even sure I’m awake now — it is pitch dark, and I have that drowsy, warm feeling I have right when I’m on the edge of dreams. I feel like I’m swathed in soft blankets. I stretch, luxuriating in the the safe, secure environment. I contemplate going back to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream…

Yet, something penetrates the muffled stillness of my blankets. Something like… the beating of drums! In a rush, the memories of the previous… day? week? decade?… come crashing upon me. I remember leaving my home, my mother… the men crowding around me, and ushering me into a car… then nothing. Blackness. LIke this. And silence.

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