Hatchet

In a dingy room on the fifth floor sat 4 men on chairs too weak to support their weights. In front of them was an old colour television and a DVD player.

“Insert the CD”, said one with the largest belly. The smallest belly guy put the CD into the player and waited patiently. The DVD player was an old machine which stuck more often than it played, placed in the corner on a dusty wooden stool.

It buzzed, the screen flickered, video came to life.

A deep red wall, like the ones you see on television ads. It was a textured paint, smooth, real smooth painted with a trowel and putty knife. In the centre, 4 feet from the top, was hung a circular shield, with motifs of elephants in gold. A single hatchet was slanting on it, and a vacant slot for another one.

The video panned, next to the wall stood a man, shaking violently. He dropped his hand, other hatchet hanging from it. Blood dripped on to the tiled floor.

At least the wall won’t stain and the floor will be easily cleaned, thought the man.

 

Wanted to rewrite this with a different opening but I am a lazy soul.

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