Ghost of Dalmos

It was hot in the savannah and I was on the wrong side of the forest where wild animals could easily devour a prey. I was uncomfortable inside my suit. It was a foolish outfit for the weather. Dreadful as if abandoned in a poorly ventilated room, to suffocate and die. My desire to get back home where my wife and son were waiting made me worriless about my outfit.

After walking alone in the bush for several hours and the sun had begun to retire from her duties, I was beginning to worry about the journey. It was taking too long to get to the next town. The paths were desolate and I feared that I had taken a wrong turn.

As I went past two or more bends, I stumbled on a large man. He looked bigger than ever with the trees around him. The man was as dark as the midnight. He had a little nose, strong square jaw and thin lips hidden under a heavy line of mustache. I imagined he laid his opponent low with a single punch and how it would hurt like a knife pierced a chicken. He was tough and rough. Men, who deal in violence, attract violence.

Causing commotion would mean I had only presented myself a meal out of which he would sniff life. I let go a yawn that took some time to mix with the air and took cover behind a fence made from wood. Temporarily I was safe because when the giant raised his ugly head and looked about, I thought he did not see me. He lowered his ugly head once again and munched through peanuts and wild grapes. Since he did not see me, I felt there was no danger and there was no need to fear. It was just coincidence for our path to cross. This act of providence was a pain too tough to swallow.

He was dressed in a coat that would not have had any blemish were it not for who he was. The poor soul would have been better in a shirt that is the size of an Olympic stadium. For once, I have seen a man that I could beat my chest and say I was better off. He was nowhere near decent. I was day and he was night. It is difficult to control a fool who thinks he is in paradise.

Sometimes, there are issues that require urgent attention than our mere appearance. He had his meal and stomach for it. The ration was a mountain. So high that it would take a great deal of work to see the other side.

He embraced nature and pleasured his good soul under her watchful eyes. The wandering clouds, the tall trees and the sweet movement of the evening breeze could only whet his appetite.

As I stared at him from a little opening, the monster rose to his feet and stretched. He was done with the meal and now it was time to move onto the next agenda. He faced the other side of the forest and began to walk away. My jaws dropped when I saw how much height the devil had to his advantage. His head almost reached the high heavens and the wandering clouds were within his reach. Have I become a victim of my own exaggerations?

After he had covered a huge distance, suddenly he paused and shot his fiery eyes at my direction as if he had sensed another tasty meal. In the forest, you never stress over mealtime thanks to nature’s roundup of quick dinner ideas.

There was much to the balls in the sockets of his skull. Truly, his instinct did not betray him. A tasty meal was within his reach. Only separated by a mutual wall, which I thought would act as my defense against his aggression. Before I could blink, he growled and dashed to my corner. Running at full speed and the earth trembled as his feet descended on her bare chest. He took a mighty heave and unleashed a blow that smashed through the wall. He barely missed the target.

Frightened like a terrified lizard, I jumped out of hiding and raced across the farm. Before the tormentor could emit destructive powers that could have left a trail of waste, my pair of legs carried me to the old cottage on the farm. He could have snuff the life out of me, but the fireballs he threw could not humble my languishing soul for they fell around and ravaged the farm.

My legs were almost touching the back of my head and I could not count the number of times that they betrayed me as the monster chased. The building welcomed me unto her unholy interiors. Out of breath, I had nothing better to do than secured the door, which I doubt would serve her purpose once the monster invaded the place.

After I had fought gallantly to stabilize my breath, I looked around the room whose beauty was a deafening silence. There were images on the walls, inscriptions that I could hardly decipher, furniture begging for renovation, rickety tables covered in dust and cobwebs spread over them as pastures clothed with flocks. Out of the belly of the cold evening came a miserable rat, uncomfortable with my presence, squeaked and disappeared into a hole.

There were six or more doors before my large innocent eyes. As the monster advanced, I decided to hide in one of the rooms. As I reached out to the door next to me, one of the doors at the extreme opened as if providence had paraded a helping hand in my hour of need. The invitation was timely. Then I paused and glanced at the door. The offer seemed nice. It was a better option because I felt the farther I was from my pursuer, the higher my chance of survival.

Hiding in such a place that was a huge distance away from the monster would mean freedom from a predator whose filthy blows had begun to torment the rickety wooden door. Before he could find his way into the house, I fled to the extreme and shut the door behind me. As soon as I secured the door, rivers of joy sat on the throne of my heart.