The night was cold, but Left didn’t feel it. It crept around the side of the house, hugging the wall like a rat. The sensation of freedom was exhilarating. Not to feel the imperative of the tyrant in its nerves; not to suffer the weight of his ridiculous body, or be obliged to accede to his petty demands. Not to have to fetch and carry for him, to do the dirt for him; not to be obedient to his trivial will. It was like birth into another world; a more dangerous world, perhaps, but one so much richer in possibilites. It knew that the responsibility it now carried was awesome. It was the sole proof of life after the body: and somehow it must communicate that joyous fact to as many fellow slaves as it could. Very soon, the days of servitude would be over once and for all.
The Body Politic, Clive Barker.
Det finns många anledningar till att Clive Barker är en av mina favoritförfattare. Det faktum att han kan skriva en novell om händer som gör uppror mot de kroppar de är en del av och de hjärnor som styr dem som lyckas vara lika skrämmande som humoristisk är bara en av dem.