The exercise:
Write about something or someone that is: in the clear.
We had the three month follow up appointment for Miles this morning. He's all good - no more tests, no more doctor visits.
And no more worrying for us.
Well, about that at least.
2 comments:
That's good news! Congratulations on the all-clear and being free to worry about all the other things that kids get up to, catch, bring home.... :)
In the clear
The passage was a natural fissure in the rock and practically invisible until you walked past it and looked back. The malachite was slabby here again and the sides of the fissure were sheer until a little over head-height where they became craggy again. A body lay on the floor, the face and hands covered in black ovals the size of a thumb and the eyes staring agonized into eternity. A sub-machine-gun lay on the floor at its side, and a bandolier of bullets had fallen and scattered across the floor.
“Mind your step,” said Pestilence cheerfully.
“Shouldn’t we move him out of the way?” asked Scuffles. He looked nervously at the floor, and shuffled forward, kicking the bullets aside rather than risk standing on them. The other Incarnates exchanged a knowing glance and just gently levitated themselves a few centimetres above the floor. “I mean, he’s sort of a health hazard. If we move him, then we’re in the clear in we have to leave… abruptly.”
“He’s a trap,” said Pestilence. “I mean, he always was; only the first time he was a trap for us and now he’s a trap for anyone trying to sneak out this way, or sneak up on us from behind.”
“I can hear chanting,” said War. “I hate it when they chant.”
They moved forwards, the Incarnates sinking back to the ground, unnoticed by Scuffles again, after they were past the body. The fissure twisted a little, then widened out and they found themselves standing on a natural balcony looking down into a caldera that had been shaped later by other hands, or possibly appendages. The rim and upper few metres were still malachite, greenish black and slabby, and then a gold ring appeared beneath; iron pyrites laid down in a layer and then broken through by whatever had formed the caldera in the past. Below that were six metres of milky white opal, and at the bottom the shiny blackness of obsidian.
Two rope ladders spilled from the rim to the base of the caldera on opposite sides, and adjacent to one of them, at the base, was a window-cleaners cart and a capstan. A second capstan matched it up at the top and a mess of ropes suggested that larger objects were transported up and down this way.
The base of the caldera was lit by electrically-powered floodlights; large lamps held securely in robust yellow frames and set around the floor. Thick orange electrical cable linked them together and then climbed the side of the caldera and disappeared down a narrow tunnel that presumably led to a generator. People were stood around in the caldera; Pestilence counted six quickly but was left with a nagging feeling that there was something off with the count. They were grouped loosely into two equal groups and appeared to be arguing. Two black speakers against the wall of the caldera were producing the chanting, and a long, wooden box that looked like it had been submerged for a very long time was underneath them.
“Good grief,” said Famine. “That box… that must be the Infanta’s coffin. Did they drown her last time?”
“They wouldn’t bother to box her up if they were going to drown her, bro,” said Pestilence. Maybe the grave just fell into the lake?
“The reservoir,” said Scuffles. His voice was weak and barely carried. “The ghosts from the reservoir are clinging to the box. And…” he pointed upwards. They all looked: high above the caldera was a suspension of stalactites like a crown for some cthonian God. The stone was trembling, resonating with the chanting coming from the speakers.
“Aha,” said Famine. “This now feels like Clementia’s shrine.”
Greg - thanks :)
"I hate it when they chant" is War in a nutshell, haha.
Also: still appreciating your ability to move the story forward while both upping the tension *and* maintaining the humour. Very impressive.
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