Blood Letting I

The sarcophagus, as it was termed, was of a black, very polished material. There was a grain one could feel running his hand over its contours, but the perfect nothingness of its color belied any attempt by the eye at study. All one could see was a shadow, a solid darkness, which neither fell nor rose, though its means of support were invisible. Waist high, like a low table, the sarcophagus floated. Floated is the wrong word. Bubbles float. Balloons dally upward, and we call that floating. There was a heaviness to this unfalling, and always, that scent of blood.