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Storyteller

From Disorganized Crime

Have not been editing as much as I would like lately but still steeling time to do a little.

 

The room was dim, no noise except for the sound of a dripping pipe, pale light shined through a small window just above a couch, Nelson lay asleep tossing and turning, then he sat up screaming sweat rolled down his forehead drenching the T- shirt he was wearing. He got up and walked to the window, a torrential downpour created rivers of water that rush down the street. Nelson stood at the window watching, it reminded him of the day after the rebels left, him and about ten other boys had fled the village , his mother had ushered them into the jungle and went back to help her sister and her children, that was the last time he saw her alive. When the rebels left and they ventured back to the village, all the houses were burnt to the ground and bodies were everywhere. He found his mother, her sister and her five children dead. His Aunt at the doorway to the burnt out house, his nephew clinched in her arms as if she was protecting him. Flies were already going in and out of his mouth and his eyes were rolled so far back in his head only the whites were showing. His mother and the rest of the children lay in a charred bundle in the middle of the living room. Nelson shivered as a chill went through the room, he wished the nightmares would stop, a man could only take so much.

By Bombastic Nation

Me name is Anderson A Charles. I am a writer story teller and Podcaster, the original Steve urkel, yes I did that. Also played basketball in college ( that's because I am seven feet tall.

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