Pyramids built not of limestone bricks, not on the spines of sweaty, sandpaper-skinned slaves, but their masters' bodies emaciated by leprosy.
Locusts litter a riverbed, once
Azure, now an ochre deathbed for a Nile filled with frogs and
Gnats feeding on and floating o'er flesh like I, bundled in my mother's basket, flew o'er these waters, carried to sanctuary in a current I've stained crimson, molten gold
Undulating 'neath a scorching storm of searing rain
Eldest children, eldest brother, I pray you may possess the mercy my God did not, but as I stare at you from this side of this parted sea, this sea parting us, you don't look down on me; you look through me and I see your heart hardened by Him, as hard as His.
About the Creator
Wen Xiaosheng
I'm a mad scientist - I mean, film critic and aspiring author who enjoys experimenting with multiple genres. If a vial of villains, a pinch of psychology, and a sprinkle of social commentary sound like your cup of tea, give me a shot.
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