jeudi 8 décembre 2016

The witness part 1


"Although ill-gotten never profit",  French proverb.

          Tijan, alias Jean Larochelle, will learn at against his will. When he becomes an eyewitness of a violent crime of passion, Tijan is far from suspecting that the price of silence that the murderer is actually proposes a pact with the devil. Swung with full force in a world that is not his, he took advantage as he can of the reality that is more like a mirage in his life vanupieds. However, he will understand soon enough that he is not master of his destiny and this idyllic happiness sparkled before his disbelieving eyes is ephemeral.

                    P .S: This story is a horror fiction, whether the character or narrator. It's my way to tell my new literary. I find that thus enhances its charm suspense to make it last. Good reading!
Alexa M.

Cabri: male of a domestic goat.
Hougan: voodoo priest who offers his services through money or property by calling mystics.
Morne Calvaire: first a bleak, it houses the middle-class neighborhood in the hills overlooking Port-au-Prince, Haiti's capital.
Petion-Ville town in Port-au-Prince, metropolis combining the business districts, considered a very commercial city.
Port-au-princienne: adjective derived from the district of Port-au-Prince, capital of Haiti in the Caribbean.

                    Let me tell you a story, an unlikely story that is unlike fairytales and tales of the Arabian Nights. It's a story that my grandparents used to tell me to do my education as they said. This idea came after I complained of the hard work that I had to do to become somebody in this piece of land, qualified once the pearl of the Antilles, which had become any piece of land on the map. In fact, I argued that people who were cheap shots to become the masters of the world were arriving by all means to their ends at the expense of low mass. My ancestors responded even though some people were taking bad shortcuts in life, they end up paying the consequences sooner or later. This story impressed me to the point of making a new literary I enhanced my imagination.


                 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. A sly smile hovering on his lips that revealed white teeth that contrasted with the darkness of his skin ebony. The body of a woman lying at his feet in a pool of blood that began to freeze and cut off a smell of raw flesh, especially as the chest of the dead body was visibly open to the navel. Dazed and frightened, Tijan tried to run away but fear magnified by the horror of the situation paralyzed his four limbs, his feet refused to obey his orders. He was suddenly shaken by nervous tremors that unexpectedly drew the eyes of the murderer to his direction. Head full of these images of horror and the stomach back up into a ball in his chest where his heart threatened to stop beating fault to go faster, he took her to his heels to blend into the dark green of the woods . Just a few meters crossed, he felt a heavy weight fall on him, knocking him by blocking his legs. He could barely breathe for the man with incredible ease had pressed against the earth floor to keep firmly immobile. Without finding any resistance, he brought him to the crime scene. When he returned Tijan towards him, the man had the hard look, frowning and seemed to be very upset. With a simple movement of the forearm, he managed to stand up in the grabbing by the collar of his dirty shirt. Despite his squeals and tears, he does not spare.
-What are you doing here? Barked there.
     Getting no response. He hammered his question in Creole. Tijan opened his mouth to answer but no sound came out. The man shook him like a mango tree which he would drop his mangoes. It was with great difficulty that the young man tried not to vomit. Two long minutes passed during which the assassin with his scrutinizing gaze sharp as if trying to fathom his soul.
-I Came back ... at ... home, he stammered finally in the same language.
     The answer did not seem to satisfy his partner who tightened his grip. He always laughed in Creole:
-A Glance is enough to understand that you're someone who has to sleep under the stars. You have no home.
       Tijan, caught off guard, lowered his eyes sheepishly.
-Since you saw the scene, you are automatically become my accomplice.
       Ignoring his horrified look, the man continues:
-In This context, it seems right to me that you know the whole story. You see this woman? He asked, pointing to the bloodied body in a pool of black blood now. It was my mistress: a beautiful woman I admit but her tongue was too pendulous. You seem surprised when I speak of her as a mistress. I married  homeless boy; I could not afford to let it affect my marriage, especially not with my social position. But you knows, a woman like that is insatiable and is not content with words of love, hugs or money. With it, one does not know where to turn. Even God will listen to you more then the other side is chosen. Then it happened what had to happen: I made a pact with the darkness and to seal it, I had to make a human sacrifice. She paid the price.
       He took a break and seemed to reflect sometinmes very important. Tijan, red and bulging eyes, still shaking like a leaf. The man replied, putting his knife to her throat:
-You're embarrassing element because you witnessed the scene. I cannot change my plan by killing you. Here, he added a few minutes later, handing him a huge bunch of keys. These are the keys to my house in Morne Calvaire * in the valleys after Petionville. You'll find everything you have always dreamed. The half of my fortune is found there. Don’t worry because you're not ready to see me again. Enjoy it largely because everything is fleeting, my friend,
     With that, he released him and then rushed into the woods with the mutilated body he had been careful to wrap it in a tarp.

 To be continued...
Alexa Madrexx

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