Mr E. Man

Wisps of steam rise into the cool air as the heel of his boots click on the rough bitumen, the occasional heavier scrape, offensive and unwelcome in the thick silence of a predawn morning. He barks out a rough cough that scares a bird sleeping in the low branches to flight, squawking curses as it takes to the sky to find a quieter spot, in the growing din of a world going mad. Old concrete and bitumen gave way to soft sand littered with occasional tufts of grass, every few steps he feels the ground harden a little as he pushes his way out of the decaying city, and closer to the ghostly remains of the old port.

Aching legs burning as he takes step after step up the steep incline, the hilly terrain flanking the skirts of the forgotten bulk with privacy, and secreting the view of the sparkling gem from those outside the ports compound, with its rusting skeletal structures, propped against a cloudy back drop.

A chain link fence rattles in the occasional breeze sending scratches of metal against metal, into the dead quiet and slowly brightening morning. Pushing through an old gap he feels his shirt snag on a stray bit, hearing it tear as he felt the air breeze against his warm flesh, sending goosebumps all over his skin.

The low murmur of voices muffled by masks drifted over to where he sat on his haunches. The occasional ripple of forced laughter stroked like nails on a chalkboard, causing red to tint his vision, to clear his hearing as he focused his mind. Slipping a long blade hidden in the sleeve of his leather coat, he rises to turn on his heel and slips out of the lightening shadows and towards the innocent men doing their civilian duties, not even aware death has joined their huddle, and is about to claim them as his own…

Posted from somewhere amongst the tangled interwebs….


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