The exercise:
Write about: the rally.
Been a long day. On the plus side: finally got back to work on finishing our deck. If all goes well it should be all done next Sunday. Fingers, they be crossed.
On the less plus side: Max has had a very rough day. Hopefully nothing that a good night's sleep can't fix.
Now all we need to do is figure out how to get him a good night's sleep.
Mine:
The town square had been empty all morning, ominously so. Captain Yang had thought so, at least, but his superiors had remained unconcerned. They refused his repeated requests for additional troops to support his patrol, dismissing his worries with laughter squeezed out between bites of chicken and steak.
As noon neared Captain Yang began to sweat beneath his armor, though the sun still lurked behind clouds heavy with impending rain. He could not shake the feeling that something deeply unpleasant was about to occur and his men, picking up on his mood, were growing steadily more restless.
It seemed as though each soldier under his command was casting a backward glance every other breath, fully expecting to find a knife or arrow thirsting for his blood.
But no threat materialized.
Not until the church bells began tolling the lunch hour and the peasants flooded into the square, armed with pitchforks, kitchen knives, sticks, pans, fists.
The rally had begun at last.
4 comments:
Peasants with pitchforks are a terrifying force unless soldiers are aware that they are there to "pacify" and may kill them without repercussion. People seem to easily forget that peasants are generally the people with all the tools that are best suited to guerilla fighting (butcher's hooks, knives, gardener's forks (and hoes, and spades), hunter's weapons, etc.) I think Captain Yang has completely justified fears!
Good luck with Max, I hope he sleeps well for you :) And I shall look forward to seeing pictures of the finished deck, too.
We're in March now... does this mean we're due a trip to our shared world soon?
The rally
Stephen stamped on the brake with one foot while only slackening the pressure of the other on the accelerator and the car slewed around the corner. Mud was flung up from the tyres as they spun, seeking purchase, and some of it splattered down on the windscreen. The wipers smeared it across, reducing vision for a few seconds to a brown wall, and then cleared enough for the track to appear again. He yanked on the steering wheel, turning the wheels against the spin, and then spun it back the other way, muscles in his back straining with the effort. Rally cars didn't come with power steering. He felt the wheels gain traction again and pulled his foot from the brake. The engine roared, and the car took off down the track, branches bouncing loudly off the windows. Ahead of him the track dipped, appearing to drop from sight, and started the descent down the hill.
The signs are all made, the petitions are ready to be signed. Hot chocolate thermoses are warm, with cups to be filled. The river breeze over the bridge has died down. We are ready for another rally on the bridge. But where are the people?
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I often organize rallies for political causes of justice on a prominent intersection in my town, next to the main bridge over the river running through town. There is always a moment of dread and anticipation at the beginning of the rally -- we are ready, but no attendees are there yet. They always come, but not soon enough to erase that moment.
How can these people listen to this? All this big talk, from little people with big voices and standing on big boxes, how can they do anything beside make a bunch of noise?
And they make the wrong kind of noise: they shout and yell, highlight misdeeds against us and invoke measures against them, bid us take arms to right the wrongs.
That kind of noise never does anything but assail the ear and stir them up. There's the saying about greasing the squeaky wheel, but if a wheel's that squeaky you might as well save yourself the trouble and swap it out already.
I skirt the crowds, keeping my head down and hope the speaker doesn't point me out; it has happened. Not only would it let me be seen, but I had other engagements.
I had my own kind of noise to attend to. They couldn't hear it though, which suited us just fine.
These loudmouths are sirens, warning the ones with ears to take necessary measures to lessen the storm's brunt. We, however, aimed to be thunder, audible only after the inexorable lightning strikes.
Greg - Max definitely had a better night than day, so that helped everyone.
And yes, I do believe Wednesday shall see us return to Mejaran :)
Good lord, rally drivers are nuts. I think you've rather perfectly captured that. They usually have someone in the passenger seat giving them useful directions, don't they?
Still mad, either way.
Morganna - ah, that is certainly a universal feeling. Like throwing a party and the first guest to arrive is a few minutes late.
But that would be much more public, so I imagine the feeling is more intense.
g2 - wonderful descriptions and use of language here. Love that final paragraph in particular.
Very intriguing scene :)
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