PARADISE: WRATH OF CHILDREN [COMPLETED]

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE POWER OF WORDS

Paul’s eyes had opened, listening to Delta and Mark who had been sneaking out the window. He had listened to their footsteps on the windowpane, one step at the time before they had disappeared. The loud barking of dogs and men yelling had caught his attention. A Loud scream he recognized as Mark’s had entered his ear sharply.

“Please! Stop!”

His dark eyes opened, gasps leaving his broken lips, stained with dry blood. The birds had really messed it up. He slowly reached his hands also stained with blood, that came from his wounds, caused by the vicious birds. He placed his hand onto the concrete floor.

The nape of his neck hurting. More wounds caused by the strong beaks of the birds aching terribly. He groaned shortly forcing himself to sit upright. His nose suddenly picked up Pamela’s scent.

He turned his head to his left and came across Pamela, who was also lying on the concrete floor a few distance from him. He quickly realized he was no longer in the cage.

 “Pam,” his voice sounded raspy.

He dragged himself forward but the chains with spikes, around his ankles and hands pulled him down. A sharp groan escaped his lips, the pain from his wounds, screaming for him to stop moving or the chains would tear his delicate skin.

“You don’t want to move too much, they cut,” the familiar gruffy voice spoke.

He quickly lifted his head and met the short creature which was a few distance from them, digging its hand inside the chest of another body of a man. An oil lamp hung above the creature making it visible. “Pam! What did you do to her?!”

“Nothing yet,” it replied, pulling out the left lung and taking a bite on it. It spat it out and tossed the bitten lung on the floor. The few strange birds, that had harmed him headed for it, ripping it apart. “Too rubbery.”

The dead man’s green eyes stared at Paul, cold and lifeless causing chills to run down Paul’s spine. His fist balling into a fist.

“Your little shadows cannot work on me,” the creature informed him, glancing at the few shadows stretching from underneath Paul, which immediately disappeared.

Paul’s eyes widened. “You are no use children,” it said, turning to face Paul. “The devil’s shadows cannot harm a Midget.”

One of the short creature's unfamiliar birds (Bigger than the others) landed on the short creature's shoulder, running its beak through the short creature's few hairs.  Paul’s mind quickly dug in a memory he had buried not so far. A memory of him in the Grace orphanage library.

“Midget?” looking at the picture of a short skinny creature with a long nose, razor teeth and blisters on the face, carrying a trumpet.

“I told you to get Rose not Derek!” Mother Teresa’s voice had said from outside the library’s entrance, making him to shut the book and hid underneath the table.

“Now you stop trying to kill me,” stroking the bird on his shoulder, setting Paul back to the presence.

Paul's dark eyes intensified, sweat glistening on his forehead.

“Don’t worry I will make good price for you two,” the Midget informed him.

“Gold coins?”

The Midget nodded. “Yes, gold coins,”

“Why? Why children?” he asked, his voice still hoarse and unclear. “Why sell us children?”

“Every creature including men in Trankin exchanges children for gold to be rich,” the Midget replied, moving slowly towards him.  “She pays good for you children.”