Keep The Dream Alive. (Not Avatar Related)

[ZenitYerkes]

"You sick decrepit!"

Torcuato, aching back, turned to see the man shouting through his thick glasses, aided by the omnipresent cane he brought to every walk he made down the Main Street.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?"

Said in a measured and relaxed tone, through his messy, white beard. The man raised a bat.

"Shut up bastard!"

Spitted down to his shoes. Some of the people who saw the scene looked nervously the scene, paralyzed. Others just passed by; but nobody reacted to the beast which then waved his arm from one side to the other.

Time froze for three seconds. The man who was getting out of the café and who had been before discussing with Don Torcuato, Dan Redford, could only slightly glance the scene while he put on his leather coat at the exit door, and put a painful face. Johnathan Griffiths, perhaps the only person who decided to stop that guy from hitting the erudite, was too late. And Lara Shaw, Paul Bell and the Old Rogers, and other eleven more people, just could stare with their mouths wide open to the bloody spectacle they were going to watch.

Hit. Hit. Hit.

The cane fell; the folder fell and the man fell. Maybe too late to call an ambulance.

Stained by the dark blood, a paper showed up from the folder.

"A better world is possible"

It said. But now the man is dead.

Who will keep the dream alive?

---

Surrealism, philosophy, gore; what a potent mix.