The windows were shattered, whistles blown, blasts made, screams shouted and all around feuding. Chaos was written all over the face of the world. I dragged my wounded – almost soulless body out of the building.  Thunder rolled and lightening flickered. Then I saw him, that man, that thing. I saw it; tall, huge with two kinds of eyes; one was blue, the other one red. His nose was flat, on his face was a brutal skin; marked, severed into tiny bits revealing a liquid that wasn’t anything I’d ever come into contact with before. It was crystal-like and shone and reflected when lightning rays flicked upon it. No light of the sun equals what I saw. His ears were huge and perky, hanging on that horrible head like wings of some inhumane bird. His face wasn’t only harsh and ruined but also wrinkled. His forehead the most wrinkled, about six lines, the kind I had never seen or heard. And he wore a hat, only it wasn’t a hat. It was a head of an animal, a rabbit with its ears firm like horns, or like a hyena, eyes revealing dread and wonder. Still feeling on my wound, pressing hard to stop the blood from flowing, from pushing me under, I walked on further and noticed its legs; long and strong like they belonged to a zebra. I shuddered; he, that thing, was dragging something with his hands, a bag or something. It must’ve been a treasure hold, for in it were skulls of dead animals, dead beings. I lost my courage, slowly gave in to my bruises, the wind knocked out of me. I fell to the ground and then hid in the bushes. There I continued to watch him, he didn’t notice me, his eyes perhaps couldn’t see, I couldn’t be sure though. The clouds finally changed and the trees danced noisily. That’s when the red raindrops started to fall. They hit my face and I was disgusted, but more afraid because the liquid looked like blood. It fell on my skin, settled there like a delicate precious butterfly, but it itched; the contact clearly impure. I don’t know why but I dubbed it with my fingers and pushed it in my mouth. I had to be sure it was blood -I always like to be sure. But it wasn’t blood; it was something that tasted of salt and pain; of hopelessness and fears. I closed my eyes and that’s when I realised what that liquid was. It was my mother’s tears!

 

#BC #CovertTown

 

(My Intellect’s Loud And Noisy-MILAN)

 

 

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ANDREW

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