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The clock strikes three-thirty
Everyone stayed quiet and still
A glass shattered on the table
No one was silent, screams!
Everyone, all at the same time

The doors locked suddenly
People hammering them to be free
One screamed, he got splinters on his hands
Then the place slowly lit up
Five minutes, they though, no it was longer

Someone opened the door outside
Flood of red fluids rushing to his feet
He showed a crooked smile
With a bucket on his right hand
A camera on the other with a long string

The clock strikes four-thirty
The man covered with the red water
Stood, walked slowly, shut the door behind
Cool, clear water showered from the top

There was a scream. Again!
The man’s eyes widened
He rushed and unlocked the doors
It was raining cold water inside

Soaked.
Blood and sweat.

Clean, clear.

Who was it?

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Published by

J. M. Salgado

This is for the unraveling thoughts of a Filipina trying to understand the creatively altered life of herself and the environment that she lives in. Learning to live the life through writing.

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