The Perpetual Game of the Hunter and the Hunted
THEY STOOD huddled in a group, dark baggy clothes, thick chains swaying from their necks while swift transactions were made.
I walk towards them, catching a glimpse of hollow deep set eyes staring out between the spaces of bodies.
Getting closer, an opening showcases the hunched man wavering on a furry child’s rocking horse, barely big enough for his medium frame to balance on.
He sets his gaze on the imaginary track, death grip on the handles, intent on reaching the unobtainable finish line.