The lightning flashed tremendously around my fighter pilot jet, W243 (or Winifred for short) as I struggled to control it against the enemy storm that sought revenge on us for making the sky we inherited our colour, our blanket for when night fell, our safe barrier keeping us flying against wind sheer.
Winifred was old and battered, almost to the point of rusting, but she worked in tip top condition. I was on the way to Africa to deliver a cargo-load of medicine to children in Africa. I am an ambassador of UNICEF, and my main priority is the wellbeing and safety of children living in poor conditions. I have won many awards, medals, trophies for my work. Sometimes, I was too late to save some children.
My mission in the Horn Of Africa was a disaster. I trod along the muddy, cracked grounds of the Sahara desert trying to deliver my supply of food, water and medicine to the children who are suffering as much as their distraught parents. But what I found was far beyond what I expected. I was so shocked I dropped my cargo as if it had extended to a massive jumbo elephant size.
Decorated on the sandy carpet of dust and dirt were millions of African children, lying like mindless stick figures in the boiling sun, as if they were millions of sausages sizzling on a yellow barbecue. They didn’t look at all tasty, they were far worse.
They lay still, trying to kick their legs and wave their arms in the air, but couldn’t, because they were all skin and bone, fleshed out wirings which once wanted to make their limbs energetically lively. Now, they’re just moribund foetal resurrections, stagnantly crying out for their mothers and fathers.
Some of them had their lives erased from their bodies entirely due to lack of food, water and medicinal care. There were many sights that shocked me to the point of making my spine turn to ice.
One of the children had fleshy gashes exposed graphically, as vultures snipped and chewed away at his rotting skin, thinking he was a lion cub or a zebra calf. Another was covered from head to foot in a blanket of buzzing, vibrating little black flies, their wings silky but stained with faeces and maple sap.
One of the poor wee lads that stood out to me appalled me so much, it felt like my intestines would emerge from my mouth and shrivel me into a prune. The little bairn was screaming in pain, so I ran to see what was the matter.
“It’s okay, young man, don’t worry, I’ll call the Red Cross. They’ll be able to make you feel better,” I reassured the little lad very gently. But it was too late. And by too late, if this happened in real life, it would make you spill your tea over the edge of your sofa or armchair.
I hope you’re prepared for this…
Okay, ready?
The young wee lad began to cry harder. He cried louder and louder and louder, until it became a sharp, ear piercing squeal that almost made the gunpowder in my eardrums explode. And what happened next made it even more horrifying.
The little man’s stomach and chest cut open dramatically, and a huge burst of blood blasted out of his body. His intestines flew in all directions, and then exploded like miniature suicide bombers.
And, as if acid rain had become intoxicated with a dangerous metallic acid, the intestines formed back together in a suddenly shaken manner, and transformed into white maggots. I say, they were absolutely flabbergasting!
The maggots had squinting, realistic human baby eyes and mouths, crying like real human babies and showing rows and rows of pungent, blood-painted teeth and shot milk from their mouths which had bits of curdled blood and twisted bones among them. Their babyish cries suddenly descended into aggressive, manly shouts
In a twist of luck, I managed to bound into Winifred and fly away. And dare I say it…
I have failed my mission.
However, my Missionary Agent, Florence, told me that it wasn’t famine and hunger that gripped the Horn Of Africa, but a toxic substance in the water called Metallice, which can form into eggs in children’s stomachs, which hatch into maggots.
The most disturbing part is, once the children have died from the lack of food, it is known that the intestines are the maggot eggs, and once they hatch they form into deformed monsters known as Maggi, who start off as babies but, quick as a white chalk on a blackboard, grow into testostorone-filled men who use toxic milk as a weapon.
Thus, I knew my mission had failed.
My latest one was different.
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