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...
Buy it now at:
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
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