Fesumien

A TURN OF EVENTS It was a tiring day at the old village petrol station. The dreary windows of the building were truly a pity to see. All the dirt and dust that had gathered ever since the station was opened in 1987 now contributed to a horrific site. The previously luscious lime green grass was now merely a wither on the ground; the grass was so black and full of death, that it could have easily been mistaken as the cold ebony black concrete that paved the ground. The horrible potent smell of petrol was hard to miss. It was almost as if the stench embodied a tank, literally invaded one’s nostrils, only to wreck havoc with a person’