Sunday September 30th, 2012

The exercise:

Write about: the camp.

We seem to have reached the end of another September... tick tock, tick tock.

Quiet day off here, though I did manage to accomplish a couple of things around the house. All set to harvest tomorrow for our lovely band of locals.


For the third straight night no fires were permitted, so when nightfall arrived it brought with it bone-chilling cold. Threadbare clothes and tattered bedrolls were no match against the icy breath of the moon.

Other than the irregular chattering of teeth, the men suffered in silence. Their leader was pleased by this discipline, though he would have preferred if it had been internally motivated. He did have to admit, however, that he had made a particularly effective example out of Rhodes the previous night.

They had no way of knowing exactly how close their pursuers were, but their unseen presence grew heavier with each passing hour. The gap was shrinking, shriveling, crumbling to dust.

Soon flight would have to be abandoned.

Soon a stand would have to be made.


Anonymous said...

i adapted this from my blog,

The Camp

They sound like ping pong balls, bouncing up and down in rapid succession as if played by an Olympic master - the eggs danced in heated fury as they boiled on the fire. 
It made me laugh, they sounded so cute.
Dinner time can be a simple affair when one has had a big lunch with one's beloved. Tonight it will be egg sandwiches, perhaps with a touch of pickles, which I shall forgo. They're not to my taste but being on holiday makes one do and eat things out of the ordinary, like going to a movie right in the middle of the day, or going on three walks in one day taking three different routes to the beach, all of which lead to the same view - waves in endless succession beating the shore, an island in the distance, a ship cutting its way between as it approaches the harbour too far away for us to see.
I picked up a bargain today. One has time for bargains when one is idly window shopping. It's a nice lacy top I found in a half price sale. It's already earned praise from two separate women, envious, perhaps, of how it falls slightly off my slender frame. Yes, I'm modest, too. Not. Life's too short not to recognise praise when praise is due, methinks. 
I swam before lunch in my new bathing suit. It's a throwback to the 'fifties when fashion meant something, when it graced the female form instead of trashing it. I love the new suit, and it didn't cost me the earth, either. I shall wear it again. It's been a while since I swam. It felt good, though the water was still a bit cold. I enjoyed its refreshment. It put me in the moment - oh, a moment of survival, no doubt; I swam hard at first to warm up but then - bliss, as I floated and then sunned myself off in the warming springtime light. 
Tonight we'll have drinks with friends, then the eggs, then a long, long sleep in the tent by the campfire,  listening to the sound of the ocean which is honestly better than cars, but that's what holdays are for, aren't they? To escape the everyday, to appreciate the gift of the new, fresh moments you actually have time to experience in their full because you're not stressing out over timetables and bad habits. 
Holidays are a vacation from yourself. I don't know if I made that up or if that's a quote I read somewhere once. Perhaps the latter; either way, it seems true enough. 

Greg said...

@writebite: Nice writing :)

@Marc: So it turns out that everyone in Denmark appears to speak excellent English, so it's just like being in Canada :-P Seriously though, it's nice and Northern here, but I'm not seeing a lot beyond the road between the hotel and the office, and the office and the hotel.
Not a whole lot of time outside of work either, but that was expected.
I like the descriptions you wrote today, they bring the piece alive, and the ominous threats at the end are, while anticipated, still nicely presented.

The camp
"Why is my office full of dresses and makeup Mavis?"
"You said you wanted to go camping, George."
"Yes... I don't understand."
"Oh George, it's no secret to me."
"...well it is to me, Mavis. I don't understand."
"Well George, how can you be camper than in drag?"
"...I meant go camping in a tent, in the countryside. Down by the ponds at Berrygate."
"Really? I had no idea!"
"I still don't understand what you meant, Mavis."
" know those ponds at Berrygate are sewage ponds, don't you George?"

Marc said...

Writebite - I'm in agreement with Greg, that's some good work! Really like the voice of your narrator.

Greg - I hope you'll be able to do at least a little bit of sightseeing while you're there!

Ah, Mavis and George again :D I think I rather like Mavis!