Bricks

The one thing the settlement can be said to have in common is the bricks. They are the same everywhere. Stolen from someone else. Even right under their noses as they slept. Now those red bricks, smeared with cement and shit, are being further degraded. This time with bulldozers. The people’s government has started it from the east side. It will take two more days of protests and killings for the yellow monster to reach his shack. He lies there uneasy. His eyelids closed. But the light filtering into his lens was bright and dizzy. Sweat bathed, he mulls going back to his village. But he is not sure the villagers will welcome him. The last time he left the village, he stole the god of the village, which lies now wrapped in a dirty yellow bag. Bringing no luck but disaster. Trust a stolen article to do good. He must be jinxed. Neither his prayers work nor his threats to the one being. He has a mind to dump it in the sewer which runs beside his brick mausoleum, carrying shit and plastic. Now he could donate the gods to it.