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Post by Mthatha Mkhulu on Apr 15, 2007 17:28:43 GMT -5
His gnarled boots hit the cliff’s jutting rim. He halted. Twisting his helmeted head skywards. A voracious heat suddenly scorching his scarred countenance. Particularly the plundered sockets. Wherein frigid breezes probed the flesh. The sighing. Serrated whistling. Astringent rustling nearly unheard. The sea below roared its instructions.
Mkhulu lifted his spear horizontally. A lofty presence above his unseeing skull. The wind charged its padded sheath. Provoking a low twanging. Like a coppery timepiece.
The Zambian grabbed his necklace. Brawny fingers snatching a specific decorative claw. The notched point punctured his left palm, drawing dribbling blood. Which he rubbed in the spearhead. Like lathering flesh.
“Behold!” he hollered in Tonga. “I hold the Spear of Life! Let my blood baptise its birth. Survival. Death. And resurrection!”
He thrust it further in the unseen warmth.
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