Shadow Market

I had an overwhelming urge to wander through the markets, like some loathsome Viking warrior tradition—plowing through the ceaseless clamor of fried foods and shouting vendors. The foul stench, the sewage seeping timidly among food stalls and caged chickens. Smuggling had already become a kind of ancient art. Dogs and humans shared the ground—perhaps as a response, perhaps as kinship (maybe). Some begged for money. Others just watched. Women sold their bodies. It was an extension of those filthy cities. Could you find human flesh there? It was a repulsive question that sometimes occurred to me—not out of desire, but because of its tragic, degrading possibility: you could find anything. Why something so absurd, yet plausible? Someone had written about it. A madman had escaped and demanded to chew on something. With no other options, he turned to the grim ritual of cannibalism.

The city was that unavoidable blend of reddish hues and ochre brushstrokes, unbearable heat. Shouts came from the next block. Word spread of a man wandering with a knife stuck in his back. His eyes were clear, green. He gazed at the sky, mouth agape like a simple fish frozen in place.

No one saw anything, as expected. Doctors arrived (or maybe they didn’t). In his agony, he recited something—it was part of the landscape, part of his private tragedy.

Then a raven came (nevermore, nevermore)—to taste the flesh and open portals to infinity. It was a transition; only the afflicted could see it—the black feathers shimmering with indescribable brilliance. Bear witness, he repeated.

He died as ants crawled over his frail body. Then he ceased to be a spectacle and passed into oblivion. Everyone returned to the market—the rumors, the haggling, the curses. Speculation resumed. They went back to their terracotta lives, their own slow, marrow-deep deaths. The colors of evening have faded. The noises have quieted. I keep searching for answers. I remain alone, discarding questions, faces, haunted by the fear of living.

Para, @wakeupkitty

La imagen la creó con un aviso, en la plataforma MidJourney.

Se agradece un voto para su testigo más joven @wakucat .
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