THE MAN IN THE MASK
The man in the mask, on the stilts, whip in hand lurched forward whipping the small boys. They jeered, dodged his striped legs, cried at the wooden mask with its antlers, which impossibly did not overbalance him. He picked his way across the red stony ground, crushing rocks, trampling any who fell before him. He roared. He would thrash them. He would kill them and eat them. They cried. They threw stones. And when his whip connected their black purple skins bled dark and shiny. He could take out an eye if he tried. He removed parts of ears, split noses, broke arms, all in good fun, maybe.
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