Extract from my new literary "The witness"

                 Tijan crossed blankly at the dark and gloomy woods in the skid row near the deserted square  of the Bicentenaire he was lying all the time. It had to be almost midnight. He couldn’t know, he had no way to know what the weather was or what time it was. The breeze of the late evening of December whistling in his ears, freezing his toes as his old worn in boots with holes in various places not protected. Thin hands buried in his pockets pierced his multicolored pants because it was patched with mismatched fabric scraps, he walked without any specific purpose. It wasn’t the first time he was wandering in the dark with the only company nocturnal birds, stray dogs and malicious shadows. It was thus from birth. Fatherless and motherless, he grew up in Port-au-Prince and was raised by his grandmother frustrated and embittered against life; he had known anything but happiness. To achieve this he had tried everything: God, that was said, who lived in the heavens, the hougan or voodoo priest out of ideas and spells had driven from his peristyle*, rob a bank in the capital but he found himself in prison for sixteen months. Nothing was it so far no help. How long he was leading this miserable life? By the way, how old was he exactly? Nobody knew, not even himself elsewhere. He had no roots, no notarized birth nor archive extracts. It did not exist for anyone. No one noticed it: not even the stray dogs that devoured some dried bones gnawed at the crossing and then went on their way without pitfalls, or those people who gesticulated feverishly in conversation who faced the brunt and were advancing without care about him. You understand why I insisted that he did not exist? However, that night, the atmosphere and surrounding scenery were different from other nights. The silver and pearly round moon lit his way, shining tree leaves and wearing a crown of stars. Tijan has not hurried on. Nobody was waiting and he was homeless. He took his time to admire this magnificent spectacle offered him the kind he had not the chance to see every night. Daytime life seemed to extend, taking advantage also of this unexpected gift of the capricious nature. Suddenly, a shrill cry rang in the wooded breaking thereby the magic of this night that was meant memorable. The sound was repeated several times, but was in the amplitude and he died; it was a female voice horrified transformed by pain or horror, or both, in a hunted animal cry. Without knowing where he was going, Tijan ran towards the direction of the screams. In his frantic race, he lost what remained of his boots and he did not even feel the sharp stones that cut the soles of his feet in the process. Arrived near the place, the sight that met his eyes took her breath away. An imposing black man with square jaws and an athletic build was standing by the trunk of a tree uprooted half, a bloody human heart tightly in his left hand and a blackened dagger in the other hand...

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https://www.amazon.com/witness-Alexa-Madrexx-ebook/dp/B01M3UK3JB/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1479216418&sr=8-4&keywords=alexa+madrexx

With love, Alexa Madrexx