the hiding place

I could not hear what any of them were saying. I did as I was advised those many months ago, I just stared achingly at my feet...my cowardly feet....the feet that didnt run anymore, the feet that shuffled aimlessly like that of an ageing drunk, homeless and hopeless.

I felt a tug of my arm, rough and purposely hurtful. I winced. I peeked. They were all laughing. Some had metal cups filling their hands...an aroma of vodka and beer made me feel sick. Ironic, considering the smells that endured and hung around this place like a damp blanket.

Yes, that is it...a damp. soil ridden,bloodied,charred, infested, torn and broken blanket ,coloured grey, dark grey, tungsten, if you like,  and made with hands,gnarled with evil protruding veins that flow cold,pure hatred.

They were laughing. The one pulling at me, ripped the top of my sack.A bruised ,violated mound of flesh was exposed. The thing was grappled,squeezed,tweeked.

Jeers,leers and cheers!

We left.

A car.

A house.

My hiding place. H e spoke english.

The End

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