The blackened monastery lay on top of the hill like a wounded panther. Lighting struck and set it ablaze. The people of the town took it as a sign that they had offended god. Those who could, left their homes, those who were too poor to leave, stayed in the rotting houses that wound down from the peak. Every year those who stayed grew older and poorer, many died.

The dying town on the hill became a spectacle for tourists. People came to take pictures of the decay. They liked to look at the old fashioned people with their old fashioned homes, as they went about their drudgery. They were unaware of the beliefs that festered in the hearts of those who remained. 

God had forsaken them; he had torched their monastery, the sanctuary where they had been married, where their children had been christened, where they said their prayers for their dead. 

I thought it was abandoned. It looked dead. Many of the houses had been torched. There was no one about. I took my camera. I wanted to get a shot as the sun reached its height before it disappeared behind the hills.

I wound along a railing up to the monastery. The cobbled stones were mossy, like little hairy beans. 

The railings fell away into an overgrown compound. There was a little rotten shack. I peered down and saw two white dogs. They looked anorexic. I could see their ribs from a distance. They were alive. I peered down. I rummaged in my bag and tossed one of my sandwiches down. One of the dogs picked up the sent of the ham. It leaped up from its slumber and made for it. The other was too late. The first one devoured it. 

Where there were dogs there must be people. The town of mount Ledoni was still alive. Someone was living in that shack beneath the railings. I leant over to take a photograph of the dogs. They would look good in black and white. I slipped and tumbled over.

I hit the ground back first. It knocked all the wind from my lungs. I choked out the breath. After the shock of the fall wore off, I tried to move. I was able to sit up. My back was sore but it didn’t feel broken. My right elbow was cut and I couldn’t move it. But considering the fall I was lucky to be alive. 

My camera was shattered. 

I saw the dogs they eyed me with caution as they closed the distance. I saw a figure in the threshold of the shack. 

“Hello, can you call me an ambulance please, my phones out of charge and I think I’ve broken my arm,”

I said it in my best Quadish. 

The figure didn’t reply. I saw them shut the door of the shack. 

By this time the dogs were close. They were boxers. They were drooling. Their teeth were sliding out of their mouths. 

They started to growl.

“Get out of it,” I shouted. 

They stopped advancing…then started again. 

“Can you call your dogs off please.” 

The figure didn’t respond. 

One of the dogs leapt at me and snapped its jaws. 

I kicked it away.

The second one took a bit of my leg. I screamed out forgetting that my arm was broken. They came at me biting and snarling. I was being mauled. I fought them off my throat. 

“Help me, get them off,” 

The figure was back. 

“This is God’s will.”

“Help me.” 


 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

SMOKE

Image
  I shoved a piece of peanut butter toast into my mouth and left to catch the tube. It was a greasy London morning. I had to interview the butcher. He had information on a suspect. The prison was brick built it smelt of pain and sickness.                                      They took me to the meeting room. Bluestone had killed for money and then for pleasure. The firms didn’t want him anymore. He was too wild to be of any use. He knew the language of blood and butchery better than he knew English.             He held himself as if he were free. The walls of the prison had no effect on him. He could not be broken. The guards feared him. They didn’t like it when he was out of his reinforced solitary cell.                      ...
Read more

THE EXAMINATION DESK

Image
  It was the day of nine o’clock G.C.S.E math’s exam. We lined up outside the lunch hall like conscripts awaiting basic training. The black painted mesh of the bike shed was flaking. I picked at it. I felt sick. I snuck into the drama block to smoke a roll up. It made me even sicker. I came back, I took my tie off, and then my jumper.         ‘Where’s your tie?’ said Mr. Clumper.        ‘I don’t feel well, you don’t need to a tie to pass an exam,’ I said.          ‘Rules are rules. Put your tie back on.’ I obeyed. I looked at my friend. He was browsing a revision book. He was going to pass, and well. He never missed a day of school. I was always ill. There was a ruckus, some kid had cracked and had been taken away for fighting. Fighting outside the exam hall, maybe I could get into a fight. But I didn’t like to hurt people with my fists. I would do the exam. They would make me ret...
Read more

The Statue of Hera

Image
The black rolls drove into the grounds of Green Stag House. They passed through the rust ridden cast iron gates, a toothless gate keeper shot them a grin and shut the gates behind them. They drove slow along an avenue of lime, to their left an old pleasure maze, to their right, acres of gardens, all over grown and forgotten. They swerved a boating lake with fountain statue of Poseidon and his water nymphs in the centre. Cynthia peered into the moonlit gardens. She glimpsed a lone silver figure. Her skin prickled.             ‘Who’s that woman?’ Cynthia said to her new husband, Lord Sotherbill.             ‘Nothing dear, just an old statue of Hera.’             ‘I thought I saw It move.’             ‘It’s just a trick of the moonlight.’ Cynthia went quiet. The car drove o...
Read more