Faded... red.
Dreaded, that I was dead. Or fading.
There were loud screams echoing impossibly all around. My heart was beating and my consciousness was circling around.
I stood in the schoolyard looking on in horror. All my life, never had I been faced with such terror. From ground to top, it was blood trickling down from a wooden pole. There was a man, almost naked and sore. He was stack to the pole, and there was blood dripping on his face. A string of barbed wire had been wrapped around his forehead. His gaze was down, or he didn't have any.
Nails, rusted nails were sticking through both of his arms. His feet had been tied alike. He was black... and his skin, the blood and the terror of the moment didn't blend. It was a crucifixion.
Beneath the sky of day, he stood. The pole of death towering over us like a nimbus cloud that was raining nightmares.
I couldn't say I felt more for him because he was a man of colour but because for the time I felt humane.
Blue skies above, unwavering screams around sounded pitiful.
Although I had felt the horror, I couldn't help but feel this was beautiful.
-I was sick.
YOU ARE READING
The Art of Killing You
Mystery / ThrillerNatasha is an African girl in love with Art. She can't take that she is in the last moments of her life because she has cancer. She travels to Paris to live out her dream of becoming a recognized painter before she dies. There, she meets Ian. And ge...
