Whirlwind Quintet

The wind was cool and violent, whipping women’s burqas as they walked their children to school. Donkey’s brayed carrying mounds of sacks straddled on their backs with their herders whip guiding their every step. A slight whirlwind that had whisked up litter in the far eastern side of the town had now been engorged with sand and silt ready to take on any mighty obstacle in its path.

The whirlwind gained momentum and as it approached the largest building in the town; the sole Bank, it stopped abruptly and 5 hooded individuals appeared. The five were Herculean; towering and filling the line of site of everyone who rested their eyes upon them. They adorned huge dark goggles, and large jungle green ponchos with hoods that covered their heads. They looked completely out of place in this heat ridden place garbed as if they were from a rainforest that was 4 countries away.

The poncho was so long, the only thing visible was their military camouflage fatigue trousers and studded camouflage boots. They looked armless. They just stood there; chests pushed out, back straight it seemed as if they awaited some sort of command. The town came to a standstill. Crowds began to swarm around the quintet. No movement at all from them, they stood at ease.

“Teeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen hut!” a voice yelled in a high pitch tenor. The crowd looked around to see where it came from. Then a thunderous shuffling was heard, the quintet was now standing at attention with their heads now facing the right.

“At Eaaaaaaaaaaaaaase!” The voice yelled again and the quintet reverted to its initial position. The crowd laughed and clapped. Someone yelled, “Armed to the ready!” the crowd laughed, it was Pepo the village clown. Everyone knew that deep husky voice anywhere.

And to their surprise, the quintet shuffled and what happened next shut everyone up and froze them to their position. The quintet flung their ponchos off, revealing their heavily tattooed arms, jungle green vests and arms cradling deadly ammunition; machine guns, rocket propelled grenades, AK47, bazookas and G3 rifles with vests filled with grenades and knives.

“ATTTTTAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCK!” the invisible owner of the high pitch tenor barked. The crowd dispersed callously; falling, screaming, clothes ripping and falling off. A priest who had been minding his own business was run down by school children fleeing, when he emerged from his dusty fall he yelled. “I demand to know what is…..” he didn’t complete the statement, women, children and businesses were all under attack, violence immersed the town, he was lucky to escape with a knife lodged in his upper thigh.

The wind began to blow violently again and the whirlwind now moved from the town centre to the far south of the town. The quintet was gone. The town was bullet ridden, flowing in human blood and screams riddling the air.

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