by J-piriyodhi Job Vermeulen A death of humanity They had tightly tied his hands behind his back with strips of tree buck. The many rough and rugged restraints rutted deep grooves into his skin, cutting him. Blood from torn flesh streamed down like an orphan’s tears, slow, painful and uncomfortable to watch. His feet had become misshapen, lumpy and swollen like sweet potatoes planted in damp valley fields. A woven cattle whip tied his ankles, taut and tense. From the ashy bla