An angel leaves.
He flies towards dawn leaving behind a dying forest. There's no sound. Just a heavy silence that covers the shacks of wood where other angels remain alive. Creatures that weakly stick to the existence, barely humans. Their wings lie shrunken soaked in blood, tears, and ashes.
This angel is neither the first nor the last one to leave. On his way towards the dawn, others that were forced to leave, join him in a trip with no return.
The others.
Those who left behind a growing hole of emptiness in those who still breathe. A greedy and insatiable hole that darkens the smiles and creates a knot deep inside the heart.
The dawn comes, the birds sing. The threes observe quietly the men heart's bleeding while they hurt each other for the sake of...nothing. An empty body is the only reminder of someone who once was called Chico Mendes.
The sun shines while it rises from the east. Meanwhile in the west, following the moon, the subtle beating of wings of an angel leaves to never come back.
In memory of Francisco Alves Mendes, a brave defender of the Amazon Jungle.
Illustration by Laura Fletcher