Title: I Can't
by Tom from Wales | in writing, fiction
"Why do you stand painted black in the Columbian sun all day?"
Crash! A street merchant's rickety stand collapses, spilling all manner of animals across the street.
"Because"
"Yes, but why?"
The animals screech. They dart around. The store owner shrieks. Passers by jump. Foreign curses fill the air. Horns blare on the road.
"You seem to want to know"
"Yes, I do."
The buildings on either side almost hide the street from view, bearing down on it, like older brothers.
"If I tell you, they will take me."
"Who will?"
"Can't say, they will take me."
A friend and fellow writer, Tom, went to Columbia. At the end of a street there was a statue of a boy, all in black. He went up close to it, and it asked him to give it money, as it was actually a young boy. Credits: Tom, for teaching me how to write like this
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