MayHem Day 8 – If Wishes Were Horses

MayHem Day 8 - If Wishes Were Horses

The room is dark, it smells of dried carcasses, if he had been given a chance to wish he would have wished for the garment of heaven, and he would have been enveloped with the cloak of wishes, he slid down the wall, and sobbed between his teeth, he had just survived another pursuit, it’s been a day since she last saw Isabelle, his sixteen years old kid, he had gone back to the house where they went apart, he saw the broken glasses on the ground level, he saw a broken wardrobe, and the air in the room was thick with the smell of death, there was a large paint on the wall, it was the portrait of Abu Dhabi, city of sky scrapers, half of the portrait was stained with dried blood, he pointed his trifle anytime he heard the bird shriek, or heard the sound of his heartbeat in his head, he went to the balcony, observed the area, it was desolation out there, a sixteen year old girl wouldn’t survive it, the world is not fit for children, the universe who were once virtuous women had turned to barbarians striking down it’s children, he pointed his rifle, ‘Who’s there!’ he shouted, but still without the echo of a troubled father, his thoughts may be playing a trick on him again, he didn’t bring the gun down, he was curious to know what was behind the steps, the light flickered, it was dim but it was bright enough for him to see thr passage of the stairs. He walked slowly, and his heartbeat pounding.
‘Who’s there!’ he said again, but now with hope cringing on his brow, it could be his baby girl? But why wasn’t she answering? Had she been bitten? Or badly injured? Those are the thoughts that slashed through him, ‘Isabelle!’ he is feeling hot now, he hated pranks, and even when the world hadn’t gone crazy, he hated it, even now he retained that hatred for pranks, he touched his pants, touched his pocket, and felt the sharpness of the blade piercing his thigh, he adjusted it with his left hand, with his rifle still pointing towards the direction of the stairs, the light flickered again, he gasped suddenly turning backwards, he thought it must have been a ghost, ghost do exist! He had always wanted to believe such things didn’t exist not until now, he turned back again, sucking his breath in, and exhaling slowly and almost simultaneously with the steps taken, it couldn’t be the infected, if it was it would have strike by now, and it couldn’t be Isabelle, if she were there, she would have ran here to Papa, still he wanted to know what was giving him the freak, he swerved and pointed the rifle down the stairs, it was nothing, a mice had been patrolling! He scoffed, there were times when he would have sought to roast that little beast, but now they feel more freerer than ever, they had become things we could no longer approach with death, but we had rather become their admirers from a distance, he chuckled, he had been freaked out all along by a tiny mouse, he tip-toed down the stairs, he couldn’t take any chances, he had to be sure if he wasn’t played by Irony, to his front was the staircase he had followed when he left his little girl, he turned right, and faced where turned to be the bathroom, he pushed the door open, the door creaked open, the bathtub was stained all around, the glasses smashed and scattered around the room, the bath tub water was running, he rushed to wash his face with the water, he exhaled as the water streamed down his necks down to his back, he was about turning when an infected pounced on him, it was a hard struggle, he yelled, and struck it with the tip of his rifle, the infected fell to the ground, it rose again, growling, with face smahed in and his jaws broken, he weeped the sweat that was becoming to foam on his brow, and launched his coup de grace , it fell to the ground, he rushed him on, and bashed it’s head in until there was nothing to bash, he yelled as he knelt over it, he stood up staggerly, and went up the stairs, stood against the wall and slid down, the moonlight illuminated the room, he buried his head into his arms, even when he heard the infected growling down the street, he didn’t move nor was his heartbeat in a melee, he sobbed now, ‘If wishes were horses I would plead gently for the garment of heaven, I would bid the night to hide me from his horror, I would beg the host of heavens to lead my blind hand to my Isabelle, if wishes were horses I would strike it down, to bath with it’s carcasses’ he muffled, the world is different now, and it’s gonna take as much as you want to protect, it is MayHem Day 8 – If Wishes Were Horses.

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