The crowd charged , and suddenly we were running for our lives. They were throwing bricks at us, and these were real enough - smashing into the pavement behind me. In the midst of my flight, my handbag burst open: my passport, my money, everything scattered on to the dust behind me. I glanced back at my pursuers: they were about fifty meres away and getting closer. It was like one of those panicky dreams in which you are fleeing from some foe, yet a part of you knows that it is not real. I dived for my valuables. The men stopped throwing rocks, and helped me. When everything - even my broken comb- had been collected and handed back, someone gave me a shove. My helpers waited for me to get ahead, then started throwing bricks at me again. - The Storytellers Daughter
Posted on: Sun, 02 Feb 2014 16:38:35 +0000
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