Wednesday May 29th, 2013

The exercise:

Write about: the marshal.

We took Max in for his six month vaccination this morning. Thankfully it was only one shot this time, and he hardly cried at all. Probably the least he's reacted to any of his needles, which was great. Plus he doesn't have to go back until November, which is even better.

To celebrate the occasion, it pretty much rained all day. So not much was accomplished in the garden.

Hopefully we'll make up for that tomorrow.


He stands motionless on the sidelines, hands clasped behind his back as he watches the runners stream past. As one of the many course marshals monitoring the day's event, he wears no uniform. His grey sweat pants and black hooded sweater are his own, and would not be out of place on a more casual spectator.

One of the few orders he was given that morning was to blend in. Competitors should not be able to determine who the officials were, he was told. It would only be an unnecessary distraction, seeing such intimidating figures watching their every move.

So he took up his assigned position and effectively disappeared. He became just another member of the audience, nothing to distinguish him from those around him.

Well, other than the gun at his hip and directions to use it on any runners who attempted to take a shortcut.


Anonymous said...

Let's hope Max keeps up his nonchalant attitude towards needles as he gets older then! Sounds like an easy trip to the doctor's for you this time.
A charming description today, right up until the last line when the race all seems to be a little more sinister. I'm just waiting for tomorrow now, when you reveal that this race is happening in Mejaran, and then I'll know you've got something terrible planned for that poor little world....

The marshal
Old stone, cold stone,
Statues of the Marshals eight,
Arranged around the courtyard,
Facing different gates.
Old stone, dead stone,
The Marshals' time is past.
Now they're just a memory,
Which fades, though statues last.
Old stone, strange stone,
They tie the prisoner here.
Leaving him for just one night,
With bravado and his fears.
Old stone, cruel stone,
Sunrise ends the wait.
The prisoner is torn to shreds,
The Marshals face other gates....

Marc said...

Greg - perhaps if the marshal was equipped with a sword instead of a gun... hmmm. Now you're giving me ideas...

That's a fantastic poem. And one that might also take place in Mejaran :D