His Inglorious Resurrection
‘Why don’t you let me rest in peace?’ Sindbad snorted angrily when after seventy years of relative silence the iron tooth of some droning and stinking pterosaur bored into his ribs. ‘Get off me at last!’ he said, and getting to the sunlight he spat out a bite of stinky, oily clay–earth of his mouth. ‘Writers, up yours, don’t nag at me all the time! Why don’t you find another victim? I had enough of you, of your resurrecting me all the time again and again from my eternal sleep and dragging me always into new adventures. I also have the right to death and doom, don’t I? …’ The newly resurrected Sindbad continued to be in fret and looked around to see the place of his new resurrection.
He was in an enormous pit, and the yellow disgusting construction on wheels l
