The Square Of The Dead. No 94

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
CHILDHOOD. FAMILY. FANTASY. FLASH FICTION. FROM THE COLLECTION, " BORN UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF SHADOWS. " NO 94

Submitted: May 15, 2019

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Submitted: May 15, 2019

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The Square Of The Dead

 

  I'm sick of hearing Auntie Mary complaining about the 

freight train that hit her, so I like to get away on the 

weekend, me and Claw go to The Square of the Dead

in the medina. 

  We wander past the countless mud brick houses with

weeds growing on their roofs, through the medina's maze

of narrow streets and lanes, and steps and dead end streets 

for ages before we come to the souk, where the owners

are always harrassing us to buy their wares, " Come in, it 

costs nothing to look! " They cry out as they try to grab

hold of us, and force us to look in their shops.

  But we're not interested in their silver or bronze, or even

their golden goods. We walk quickly on, and everywhere

there's the awful smell of the tannery, it stinks, it smells

disgusting. " I'm a vegatarian. " I lie to the shop sellers as

they try to sell me leather bags and coats. Then we sneak 

past the carpet salesmen, they're the worst, they'll stoop

to any level to coerce you into buying one of their arabesque

carpets, they just won't take no for an answer, and they 

just keep insisting that you see more, that you see just one

more carpet, they beg, " But please sir, let me show you just

one more, I have one more that is special, I sure that sir

would like it. "

  It's impossible to get out of their shops sometimes, Claw 

and me make sure we don't go near them.

  Finally we make our way to the fruit sellers, and I buy an

apple to eat as we finally make our way to the The Square 

Of The Dead. It's real effort to get there, but it's really worth

it. It's great there!

  The army displays the decapitated Vietcong on wooden 

stacks hammered into the ground, all 'round the Square. 

Claw thinks they're really fun to look at, as the musicians

play their drums and trumpets faster and faster, louder

and louder, as they dance frantically around the blood

stained heads.


© Copyright 2019 tom mcmullen. All rights reserved.

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