The BIG TOY

The TV came to life. It felt as though there were a million hands and legs scrambling out of the box in pain and gore as the reporter spoke a million words a minute, struggling to catch his breath. A horror in his eyes. A scattered crowd that juggled and fumbled behind him as they ran over each other stepping in pools of dark red liquid. Fluid that the terror stricken humans wiped off. Palms and hair and feet and innocent flesh on their bodies. The bodies of souls lay on muddy ground recklessly as armed, well dressed and neatly navy cut men roamed around as if in search of some treasure. They stretched their hands out into the puddle of blood, under the bodies of men, stretched open the mouths of numerous individuals and pushed around the scattered crowd that ran recklessly from one end to another to save themselves from the “thing” that they saw flying like the Frisbees that small neighbourhood children played with.

The thing.

The thing that might have gotten into the hands of the wrong men that used shiny black polished guns to send their enemies to, heaven? The men that took lives and didn’t mourn death. The men that celebrated death. The men that were a terror for the innocent and god for the brainwashed. And this god had finally gotten hold of the thing.

The men now used it.

It was flying across from one end to the other effortlessly. When the men used guns, they had to take a quick aim and pull the trigger. But this object seemed to just move swiftly through the air cutting across all the molecules of nitrogen and oxygen that were clumped together in the darkness of the sky. The darkness they had created in people’s lives. The only spark in the darkness was that of the thing was glowed with a golden charm and had sharply serrated spokes around its circumference. But the men used it causally.

As though it was their big toy.