While I ran

I should have paid more attention to my map but the night air was far cooler than I expected. I had to move before the chill reached my bones.

A figure in robes dragged his feet behind me. And here I thought it was only the fluttering of my own robes in the wind that I heard. Maybe it was, but I knew I had to run. In the maze of mud buildings and cobbled streets I could not see where my path would end, where it would go.

The sweat cooled my back as I turned, a roof here and wall there but not a single lamp to guide my way. Within windows the light would mock me. I knew I would not run far. On a roof someone took my hand and said “Let’s swim to eternity.” I looked again and the flat, walled roofs were covered with water. But I dared not look at who held my hand.

The air was warmed by fire but my fingers cold and dead like wood.

I leapt and flew, to an old man’s store. How could I have known? In the darkness I never saw the strings. In my fear I could not see him like the spider on her web. I heard people watch and shadows dance as the old man pulled his strings.

Chronicles Of A Death Foretold

The blurb tells you he will die.

It tells you why and it tells you who does it. So why read what Marques writes? Maybe its the how. Maybe it’s just the desire for a little closure. Why should a story tell you everything anyway?

Back when I was a kid I had a dog, Zoolfy, he was white the untouched parts of a new unruled notebook. I don’t remember much about him, I was six at the time and my father killed him before I got to know him better. What I do remember is a story about him that my family┬árepeats every time that start reminiscing about the pets they had. On seeing one of the many uncles that haunt the family for the first time, Zoofly hopped up on his lap and looked him in the eye. Man and dog stared at each other for sometime,I don’t know how much time but it was enough time for the family to decide that this stare lasted so long, that it was a story meant to be retold. What passed between man and dog on that ruined,decrepit chair?

I don’t know much about Zoofly or what went on his mind or who the uncle was or what he though or why neither of them made a sound. It’s interesting. It happened. People remembered it. It had no plot no great moral lesson. It just happened. It makes you think.

The murder happens. You might like the narrator and the man who is going to die or you may not. It doesn’t matter. You might hate the people who let the killings happen, the people who kill, the man who is killed- it doesn’t matter. Curiosity will keep you going.

Find your own morals and villains if you want to. The death happens weather you like it or not. You like everyone else in the story may never truly know if the wrong man was accused. The truth might never decide to reveal itself. You don’t even know why the narrator lists out all these little stories to you. You can never be sure if that fact that several people could have saved him is important.

Marques takes you for a ride. All you can do is sit back and wonder at everything you hear and everything you don’t.