second republic

i saw his face, of anger

Posted in Uncategorized by Administrator on the July 1st, 2018

i saw his face, of anger, as he lost the grip

so going-up he passed me outside the cables, and then suddenly he went down. it was at the ledge, where it gets thinner, and the rock crumbles. that is just why they set up the cable, to pass in relative safety. so he went outside the cables, to pass all of us there as we were waiting. there was some traffic above, and some slower hikers. so he went down.\r\n\r\ni saw his face, of anger, as he lost the grip. he first fell backwards, but somewhat in midair he was able to catapult himself back towards the rock, like a miracle of gravity, only to hit his face on the raw rock. scintillating teeth flew in all directions in the early morning sun, shiny, like ethereal and eternal. a shiny glittery dust of teeth.\r\n\r\nthan he went down. he was beating the rock, as he were angry, not really trying to catch a grip. there were no grips. his arm went into a shallow crevice, but it did not stop him: at this point the speed and the weight were too big. the arm just snapped, like a long thin dry spaghetti, with a sound even louder than the smashing of the teeth, like a soft sonic boom of some sort, a bang and a swish, and then a pop, when the absurdly stretched leathery skin of the arm, nearly transparent and pink against the light, snapped.\r\n\r\nso he went down. he was now sliding fast towards the precipice, still angry, like a deformed toothless hollow greek mask of anger and horror, angry at himself and horrified by his own vague and vane stupidity. at the second ledge somehow he did get hold of something, with the arm that was left, the left one, holding on to an elbow of a branch with his left elbow, an awkward and final embrace of two different natures.\r\n\r\nso the action suddenly stopped.\r\n\r\nstill angry, and now with a somewhat astonished expression, he was staring at us up there as saying “are you not going to do anything?”. we were too far away, and we were petrified, even more stale that the evil rock itself.\r\n\r\nhe went down. he could not hold the weak elbow-grip at the ledge, with one arm only, and bleeding, bleeding, like a red and golden waterfall: than he kicked, because of pain, or perhaps just anger, or trying to get one leg over the ledge. futile. fatal. he was gone.\r\n\r\nthe silver of the teeth and the gold of the blood had painted the rocks with a trail of infinity.\r\n\r\nnobody said anything.\r\n\r\nit felt like the silence of history after the last mastodon disappeared from the planet.\r\n\r\nit seemed that even the light wind had died out.\r\n\r\nthe coarse long shout and the roar of the now dead body had dissipated with a distant echo through the valley.\r\n\r\nall was silent.\r\n\r\nthen a small girl silently took a picture with a small camera …

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