Monday, November 16, 2009


IV - A.

“In the flowers,” the mustachioed man said.

“Over there.”

Sadly, the young man couldn’t really say anything in response. His hands were tied, his legs shackled. The weight of his limp neck sunk a bit farther than his head. His lips were parched.

While there was some dignity in his step, it was easy to tell the thoughts that ran through his head weren’t really thoughts. They were more of ideas that had been fed to him over time. For a good amount of his term he had believed that if he treated the others with kindness, in return they would respect him for his troubling sacrifices. He was a man of principle so he believed that such principles would be upheld in a mutual manner and shared understanding.

“Leg up! Leg up!”

Unfortunately that wasn’t the case.

Earlier that morning, before the marching had begun, he had awoken to a large man sitting next to him on a stool. The large man wasn’t anything significant enough to recall déjà vu or even symbolic irony, yet he was the one who managed to wake the young man up. He was not mustachioed, yet he did maintain a good pair of chops on his sides. When the large man shuffled back and forth within the room, the young man actually chuckled slightly under his breath.

Dust moved along, pebbles skipped across and grass bent under the weight of his sandals.

“Up boy! Up!”

Mechanical, if not maniacal, was a proper term for the other man’s orders. He, on the other hand, thought of himself as a leader.

Sunshine gleamed down upon the chronicled event for years to come. But this was only a few years in.

“Turn to the left – move to the left.”

The young man moved right.

“Preposterous!” halted the mustachioed man.

“These orders must be followed!”

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