Someone stopped me in the street. He was obviously a homeless man, surrounded and mounted by many pigeons; two on his shoulders, one on his head and others circling him, and, by and by, circling me with him. Continue reading The Burial by Hazem Shekho
But he didn’t. He kept looking at the hanged man. I glanced about; no one seemed interested in doing something. I thought to myself, perhaps I should act. Yes, I should. Well, I did nothing too. I kept looking at the dead for a while then continued walking, aware of the music that started to fade behind me. Continue reading The Hanged Man by Hazem Shekho
Bandit Fiction 