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On the Street Where I Live
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W a i t i n g
He hated the rainbow people. They were as annoying as gnats. Flitting about, chiming their silly wind songs.
Some of them, the fortunate ones who still had their colors, streaked trails of luminous light with chaotic glee, blinding his one great eye. He would smash them all, if he could... if he had hands or feet ...if he could shape himself as they. Into the old forms, or any form with appendages that would allow him to strike out.
But, he was not like them.
His body was elongated and tubular. He was massive and thick, his movements, slow and heavy. He could not propel himself as they, into and out of the quiet dark, or gather and dispense the colors, for he had only one color. A dull, puss-like gray which oozed from him and coated his underside as he slithered silently through the dark.
The first children should have been his but his breath poisoned the one and when he cast the net again, the second was too weak to hold him. It strangled in his net and was never born. He missed again with the midwife when those damnable rainbow people went and spread their insipid gossip and The Old One interfered.
But, The Old One merely delayed what he knew in his soul-less-ness to be inevitable. He would not fail at the time of the equinox when the night was equal to the day and good and evil evenly matched.
Destiny would see him live again.
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