Deep down below the surface, all the way down in the sewers, a party is about to start.
Red eyes keep watch through the sewer grate. “The baker has gone to the back room.”
Suddenly the hole in the pavement comes alive, as they start popping out, like the undead clambering out of the ground.
By the time the baker comes out, his shop is infested with them.
Sunken red eyes stare out of bony face, some snorting out of bags at their mouth, pumping slowly like a black heart. The smell and rashes are unmistakably. Sickening.
He backs away. They pick up what they want and return to their living graves.
Down below the music continues thumping. Syringes are passed around. The candle is blown and the cakes reached for.
Some start vomiting. Some break into seizures. Some fall to never rise.
Above ground the baker waits. Sickness was taking too long. The cyanide should expedite matters. Just some long overdue pest control.
In response to The Sunday Photo Fiction challenge of 12th November 2017
In 2014, Channel 4 News reported that “Deep under the streets of Bucharest – in Europe, in the 21st century – there is a network of tunnels and sewers that is home to hundreds of men, women and children stricken by drug abuse HIV and TB.”
Due to Ceausescu strict policy against birth control, there were tens of thousands of orphans and children in state care. After his fall, and the ensuing chaos, some moved into the tunnels underneath Bucharest. Drug addiction is rife, some have had children of their own.
The entrance to this underworld are holes in the pavements or sides.