Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Of Wood, Voodoo and Llama (Part at Last)

Woodsie Woodsie Die Woodsie got up.
With heavy steps he approached the great tree, picked up the tomahawk and held it in his blackened hands. The rain kept falling in the jungle, soaking everything in a murky veil. Echoes of thunder came from the distance, as white cracks of light formed on the horizon. He loosened his grip on the tomahawk and let it slide down in his hand. It fell with a thud and hammered the ground with its weight.