Tea, screams, and the bus home

The wall collapsed in a relentless shower of ancient and neglected masonry. As the pieces rained down unforgivingly onto Louise, they fell bouncing off her gentle body and onto the cold marble, leaving blood and shattered bones to mark their descent. Louise stumbled under the fusillade and sank to the floor, her head in a spin. One of the larger, more elegantly decorated pieces of the now shattered archway tumbled and finally gave way, coming down onto her skull. The last of Louise’s air escaped from her inactive lungs as she quickly expired.

At the same time, on his way past the theatre Maxwell was confronted by an elderly man, shabbily dressed in soiled rags as damp as the night.
“Spare the price of a cup of tea?” the old tramp asked. Maxwell leaned forward out of the shadows and looked darkly into the dirty face of the tired man. “Look into my eyes old man, and tell me what you see there”.
The old man looked long at Maxwell, and almost immediately, his lips started to quiver, and tears began to trickle down his cheeks. His skin grew cold, and his breath short. He let out a whimper, turned and fled from Maxwell in a fit of dead panic. He ran headlong into the street and into the path of an oncoming bus – the driver saw nothing until it was just too late. Somewhere in the distance a woman screamed, and the last thought of the frightened vagrant was one of sheer uncontrollable terror.

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