From my perch, my legs dangle and I watch the rhythmic pedestrian traffic in Pioneer Square. I turn to the abrupt hiss of the MAX doors opening. I turn my neck hard, chin against my left shoulder.
Through the windows, I see bright white creatures moving inside, maybe fifty.
They pour out onto the sidewalk. I hear laughter first, then screams. I see white first, then red. The blood on their uniforms makes them thirstier. Scalpels fly faster.
Two head for me. I twist my ankle. My head hits brick. I see tennis shoes approaching—to do harm.
| COPYRIGHT 2006-2011
Portland Fiction Project
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED