The First Act [The Fallen] - The Deity that Fell on His Bottom

Carl walked through the streets, keeping to the narrow sidewalk. Looking down at the uneven surface, at the grey bricks that went up and down like waves up till a bend in the corner, his mind was preoccupied by the strange occurrence that had taken place just this morning.

Gazing around the deserted block, at the red brick road that went up steeply, at the cars lining the sides, sounds of quarreling fell on inattentive ears. At first, he looked up, at the second floors of the buildings, at the washing lines swaying, at the clothes flapping in the breeze, thinking the noise came from up there, but then he heard it again, coming from his right, a distant kerfuffle.

Droplets of washing water sprayed on his cheeks, his face, his eyes, taking his attention. The smell of detergent was faint. The freshness, the coldness. It stung him, but in a good way, and he relished in it. He blinked. Then his eyes drifted to the right, to where he thought was the source of the noise.

It was the darkness that stared back at him. A narrow canyon squashed between two rigid buildings, with some crumbling bricks darkened with moss jutting out at random places on the walls.

Sprayed graffiti danced across one side, a cacophony of bright colors - shades of violet and aquamarine, dimmed by the shadows. It looked out of place - the greyness of everything around glaring at it. No doubt unwelcomed.

The distorted words continued endlessly across the bricks, blending into the dark, simmering and dispersing into nothingness. Words that represented today's society, representing people's protests against injustice. He could not see what it read, but he was sure.

He gazed into the blackness for longer than he intended, his thoughts temporarily relieved from recent problems. With prolonged exposure to dim-lighting, his pupils widened, searching for the tiniest crack of light.

Accustomed to the alleyway, Carl began to make out more of what the dark had covered. A dustbin, green with yet more of the graffiti. Grated rust had deteriorated the corners, the paint peeling to reveal dull steel. The lid was open. Over its side, nearly toppling to the ground