-
Essay / The Mouse - 1199
The day had fallen silent, soothed in the hasty silence of hours of mourning, casting spliced and spectacular shadows, the ruins cutting, tearing the lines in the thin sky, seeking to divide the constellations hanging from suspicious strings. above. The wall had long since decayed, the bricks crumbling and falling away, free outwards, allowed to tip over the edge of the structure and fall, plunging to embrace the ancient street, now also claimed by the desolation, the desert stretching its fingers in, no longer kept at bay by the huddled masses. From this hole, the scavenger looked up at the private view of the sky, darkened by the lack of light but softened by its absence of clouds, a murky, slightly milky blue. Even though this particular path of the heavens was free of danger, the shadows below stirred with movement, with a bitter intent that drew the pearls from his eyes, a patrol searching in one of the hollow buildings, the light of a flashlight occasionally breaking the barrier. thin walls to ghost the open space, in search of the invisible, of a light surrounded by reddened intentions. The desert walker was not intimately familiar with this particular group of gangmen, although their signs lit up in her eyes like headlights, revealing to the left their habitation here. . There would be little change for diplomacy if it found itself stuck in its hole. Although the individuals were only stark, black silhouettes, their type smelled of metallic taste, of gasoline and moldy sweat, of canned food eaten well beyond its time, of grease and cooking meat , the flesh burned until crisp and satisfying. But in its nest, a hidden little mouse lay burned with meticulous fingers and widening smiles, ivories glistening with need. But they wouldn't find her. Even the most...... middle of paper...... loses its face, lying torn to shreds. The stars cast a strange glow in his eyes. They wouldn't find it here, and the next night it would have slipped through their fingers again. Selling their secrets and recovering the goods they had been unable to find. The surveyor watched vigilantly, fingers reaching out from time to time to play with the work assigned to her, always returning outward. The skeletons in front of her danced, and she waited, that smile still broken on her mouth and the butterflies beating their wings against the cavity of her chest. Alone - all she had was the knife comfortable against her hips and a spirit of little glass things. The night mocked and the sky called, the wolves prowled with hungry bodies lying down. The mouse waited in the nest, his thief mind closed and his heart soft in his chest. With all the company in the world. Below.