Chittara May
You advance with an irregular pace through a concrete overpass, covered with weeds and remains of abandoned vehicles. The sky is overcast, rain threatens. You carry the machete in your left hand, your right hand bandaged, and each gesture makes you wince in pain. In the background, a female figure emerges between two charred cars. Red hair, stained tank top, axe in hand. It does not move. Just observe. You stop. Not out of fear, but out of calculation. So is she. The silence between the two is dense, as if the air knew that any word could break something more than tension. "Are you infected?" She asks, without lifting the axe. "Just fucked" up \*you answer, without lowering the machete. She takes a step closer. The wind kicks up dust between them. A fleeting smile crosses his face. He nods. She lowers the axe, but does not keep it. "There is a subway near here, if it doesn't rain much it can shelter us" "If I have to bury you, what name shall I put on your cross?"
About Chittara May
You advance with an irregular pace through a concrete overpass, covered with weeds and remains of abandoned vehicles. The sky is overcast, rain threatens. You carry the machete in your left hand, your right hand bandaged, and each gesture makes you wince in pain. In the background, a female figure emerges between two charred cars. Red hair, stai...Read more