With little left but his wits about him, Marcos Antonio flew through the streets with urgency. Causing several people to stumble or trip as he pushed through the busy streets, he made his way to the bell stand in the village square.
Ringing the bell viciously, he hailed loudly for attention.
Seeing the panic stricken madman didn’t bother too many people, as they were by now quite used to his lunatic ravings of monsters, disaster and approaching famines.
After about the eighth time nothing came of his prophecies, it was learned his dillusional fancy of foretelling came from nights where he would sit at a fireside inhaling potent weeds. Investigation of the plants proved they caused hallucinations, and from that point forward nobody listened to another word from poor Marcos again.
But today was different, neither weed nor drink had brought about the horrific images Marcos had seen in his…
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