“Don’t they see that the so-called prophecies are nothing more than ambiguous lyrics that can be interpreted by anyone, in almost any way?” he says, and picks up the remote to turn off the TV set.
The phone rings. After feeling unsure, he decides to pick it up. It’s Kostas. He asks to meet up, but Telemachus wants to avoid it. While talking on the phone, he strokes his hair, or whatever is left of it. A sharp pain penetrates the back of his head when his fingers reach the bump. It is the exact same spot where he took the hit from the enemy ape while in his last dream adventure.
He hangs up, wanting to examine the wound. He cannot believe it. What could have happened? The phone rings again. He picks it up, and on the other end a slow, harsh voice he recognises can be heard.
“Hello Telema
