in medias res


3 people were left standing that day.

It moved in slow motion, like shock, as each one of them were left looking at each other in awe — jaws hanging, eyebrows raised, sweat dribbling in beads mixed with urine, down legs, while the close to non-existent, yet slightly cooling, breeze whistled softly, just audible enough to be heard in the otherwise complete silence.

A tear slid down Ellen’s smeared mascara, painting her cheeks a smudged gray and brown, like a pottery maker, a clown, or maybe a desperate traveler in a dust bowl.

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