Flamingoes flew after me.
My friends and I came here for Pride. Now they’ve died.
I was scream-queening. A nun fleeing the convent hoisted me onto her back. Grown man becomes baby.
Splashing into the sea, archeologists followed firing at will but missed. The flying pink nightmares wouldn’t be deterred.
Sister carried a violin bow. She swung at them.
The flamingoes cut me with their toenails and kicked me off the nun’s back.
My blood reddening the water, I knew the flamboyance of flamingoes would become pinker and more aggressive. With my dying thoughts I prayed for their future victims.
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