Towards Sunrise...
(Footsteps on
the moor grass. Hurried, frantic footsteps)
The sky was
still dark, patches of it being faintly lighted up…
(Escape escape
escape)
Under the
stars of the sky of a November night in 1956, a man was running…running across
the foggy forested Hungarian moor…
(faster the
guards will get you)
He had been
convicted the other day, and was sentenced to death…
(I would not
give up. They are coming…)
He heard faint
footsteps…the rustling of leaves along with the howling wind created a spooky,
foggy ambience all around…
(in the
distance a low ring...)
He didn’t know
where he would go…just out of this damned country.
(I so want to
kill that Stalin)
He ran as fast
as he could…the faint footsteps got a bit louder…closer…
The sky was
beginning to light up…the first faint streaks of light were hitting the
horizon…
(I’ve got to
escape)
He looked back
for a second and gasped…the gray-blue coats were visible…they were coming!
The fog
continued to grow…everything seems to whirl into oblivion…
‘CR-R-ASH!’ he
suddenly hurtled into a large boulder. He got shifted from his direction –
towards his left. He fell down a little, then got up, and began running downhill…
‘Ott ő van!’ (There he is!)
Someone
suddenly cried out in the fading darkness…
The man picked
up speed now…
(they were
coming)
His vision was
getting blurred as every minute passed…he was getting out…he will get out…
(you can do it
don’t give up)
He ran into another
big boulder. This time, blood spilled all over his forehead. Still he ran, into
the now forming dawn. In his beggarly attire, he ran…ran…ran…
‘WHO-OO-OS-SH!!’
The man felt
something hot pass by him – just missing him by an inch. He quickly turned back
and to his slight horror, he saw the grey coats were behind him, running
towards him…
(don’t let
them capture you goddamnit!)
He now rushed
faster downhill. The fog was now growing dense. The sky was slowly lighting up
into a blue whirl…but the man paid no heed to it…he kept running.
The grey coats
shot one bullet after another at the man. The moor shook with the sound of
gunpowder exploding. The man suddenly got his shirt tied up to a rock, which
made him fall face-down on the mud.
(no no no no
no!)
Whoooo…choo...choo...
He got up
again, and began to hurtle down at top speed. Two more bullets passed him...
It was as if a
surreal play is being staged – within the mist, a half-mad man was escaping
from his country, while three grey coats were in hot pursuit of that man, with
the pale blue sky in the backdrop now…
The man –
while running – had realized that he needed to rest…but he can’t…he can’t allow
himself…
He then
semi-rolled down a certain distance, dodging three more bullets, and then
slipped behind a boulder much larger than others. It made him hide safely, out
of the eyes of those grey hounds…
And that’s
when an idea came into his mind.
(Kill kill
kill)
He peeped
backwards. A grey coat was coming this way only.
The man
waited…and then…
The grey coat
suddenly heard some rustling beside him. He turned to find it out, when
suddenly he felt two strong hands holding his neck tightly. No scream came out
of the grey coat’s mouth – within seconds, he lay over there dead.
The escapee
now picked up the gun
(hands were stinging)
and then
positioned himself. He had heard just a couple of minutes ago the sound of one
of those mini goods trains. If he could escape somehow…
But before
that, he will avenge. Avenge for the deaths of his brother and sister, and the
brutal torture his mother and papa…
Footsteps.
They were coming closer…
Closer…
Closer…
Then suddenly,
‘CR-R-R-A-C-KK-!’
The man shot
one bullet directly into one of the grey coats’ chest. The grey coat groaned
then fell down. Then, throwing a stone at the other man’s head, he turned
around, prayed the God in heaven, then dived into the faded black-coloured void
in front of him!
‘CR-R-A-A-A-SS-H!’
The man
hurtled downwards, towards the railway track…he didn’t matter the scars or cuts
he was getting. He wanted to get out, get out…
(GET OUT! GET
OUT! GET OUT!)
After some
moments, the train had faded away into the distance.
The third grey
coat rushed downwards – towards the tracks, to see if he could get that man...he
couldn’t have gone too far…he was bleeding as hell...
He stopped
beside the tracks, and looked around him.
The tracks
were empty. The east side of them was slowly being engulfed by the fog…
Above him, the
weak sun feebly smiled upon its surroundings, which then got hid by the foggy curtain…
***
M.Macabre
09.11.2020
Dedicated to:
Bram Stoker (Happy Belated Birthday!), Gyorgy Ligeti, Anastasius
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