Ficlets

The Horror! Justen's Uncle, The Crowd

“You fucker!” Justen screamed, “You shit!”, tears rolled viciously down his face.
The fearful people came back, eyes blank, no longer fearful, but not shock.
“Mom!” shrieked Justen. “You son of a bitch!” he bellowed, lurching at his uncle. “She’s dead! And you!? Why the hell are you alive!! Goddamn you!”
Justen stopped. The cops were backing from his uncle, the police dispatcher’s voice garbled, the flashing lights now illuminating an eerie sight.
The crowd, the bystanders, the little Korean grocer, and his sometimes antagonistic black customers, side by side, with little old ladies in quaint dresses, homeless persons, a Hasidic Jew, a Moslem man, a man in a suit with a briefcase, maybe selling insurance, all picking up sticks, stones, bottles.
They converged, silent, vacant eyed.
Justen’s uncle screamed, an inhuman, saneless sound.

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