Prompt: A parade
Wordcount: 837
written today
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The black boots, shined to a uniform, gleaming perfection, stomped down against the still-frosty earth, again and again in tandem, in waves. Row after row of black and khaki-clad men moved forward, pulled inexorably by unseen force towards the center of the city. They clogged up the bridges and streets: automobiles and bicycles were nowhere to be seen, nor pedestrians making there way to the stores or their jobs. No, today there was only the steady thrum of footfalls, marching soldiers, and on the sidelines, slightly less uniform in appearance, a long line of drummers working diligently at their craft. There were bright banners and oversized flags strung up on the outer walls of nearby building and on lampposts – words of encouragement and lithographed images of smiling children and of Him, always Him, printed just so and clearly visible above all others.
The sidewalks along the main route were crowded, filled with less-than-enthusiastic bystanders. Some, though not all, had stupidly exaggerated grins plastered onto their faces and waved small, cheap flags with a modicum of energy. The rest stood alone or in small groups, bundled up in thick coats, huddling together in attempts to keep warm. Their eyes darted only occasionally towards the procession. Here and there groups of schoolchildren stood dressed in their school colors, most more intent on gossiping or fooling around than on the proceedings; their matronly teachers stood near them, some giving the children grim, reproachful looks, though many others seemed apathetic.
Karl, like most of the other men and woman shoved out onto the sidewalks at the crack of dawn, longed to be elsewhere. It wasn’t even the cold that bothered him, for the makeshift laboratory where the man spent most of his daylight hours was a drafty space with cracking windows that offered little protection against frigid winter temperatures; Karl was well used to the sensation of cold that chilled down to his very bones. No, for Karl, it was the noise, the obnoxious drumming, the whistles of the so-called Peace Officers making sure everyone stayed in line, and of course, the thumping of the boots. They were heavy boots, those, and Karl could still remember viscerally the pain they caused when one was kicked with them, over and over, right in the center of the gut. Karl remembered broken ribs as well.
More precisely, really, Karl wished that he could disappear. It was almost possible – his current project, the one on invisibility, was progressing well. Invisibility could be obtained, in a very limited way and for very short periods, but the current side effects – a particularly painful and persistent rash of the skin chief among them – were such that its use on such an occasion was still far from advisable.
Sighing, Karl shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his overcoat and looked up, his eyes drawn to a particularly large and colorfully illustrated image of His benevolence hanging from the roof of a nearby storage depot. What would He, His minions, do if they knew what Karl was working on – that Karl was in fact still working, if secretly and quietly now? Nothing good, certainly. Invisibility was, after all, a very promising technology with many possible uses. Yes, they’d like nothing more than to get their greedy paws on his work. He’d taken certain measures, however, to ensure that this would never happen. Karl had learned from his mistakes: he was careful now, cultivated the image of the doddering, broken old man, lean from years of just getting by, his overcoat always dusty and increasingly covered in mended patches. He almost never spoke with strangers anymore, beyond the vaguest of pleasantries (no one who had sense these days did, come to think of it) and he dutifully allowed himself to be herded to these parades without protest. It was painful, standing here, watching this for what felt like the millionth time, and terribly tedious, but worth the sacrifice for the guise of anonymity it allowed him to maintain.
In the afternoon, after all was said and done, the officials back in their villas and the soldiers back in their barracks, Karl would make his way carefully across the city to the little cellar where he worked. He would meet with his apprentice, who would be waiting (hiding) for him there, and together they would work out a solution to this latest riddle of chemistry and mathematics. She had a mind, that one, and he would train her to be something even better than himself. She would never waste time, years, tricked by His words, by their lies. She would perfect anything he didn’t have time to complete, and well – how much easier would it be, for an assassin to succeed if that assassin was bless with a certain invisibility? The possibilities were astounding.
So Karl remained, standing, perhaps even limply waving a little flag when one was thrust at him by a passing officer, and the soldiers kept marching, marching past in their black boots, their robotic motions.
----
The sidewalks along the main route were crowded, filled with less-than-enthusiastic bystanders. Some, though not all, had stupidly exaggerated grins plastered onto their faces and waved small, cheap flags with a modicum of energy. The rest stood alone or in small groups, bundled up in thick coats, huddling together in attempts to keep warm. Their eyes darted only occasionally towards the procession. Here and there groups of schoolchildren stood dressed in their school colors, most more intent on gossiping or fooling around than on the proceedings; their matronly teachers stood near them, some giving the children grim, reproachful looks, though many others seemed apathetic.
Karl, like most of the other men and woman shoved out onto the sidewalks at the crack of dawn, longed to be elsewhere. It wasn’t even the cold that bothered him, for the makeshift laboratory where the man spent most of his daylight hours was a drafty space with cracking windows that offered little protection against frigid winter temperatures; Karl was well used to the sensation of cold that chilled down to his very bones. No, for Karl, it was the noise, the obnoxious drumming, the whistles of the so-called Peace Officers making sure everyone stayed in line, and of course, the thumping of the boots. They were heavy boots, those, and Karl could still remember viscerally the pain they caused when one was kicked with them, over and over, right in the center of the gut. Karl remembered broken ribs as well.
More precisely, really, Karl wished that he could disappear. It was almost possible – his current project, the one on invisibility, was progressing well. Invisibility could be obtained, in a very limited way and for very short periods, but the current side effects – a particularly painful and persistent rash of the skin chief among them – were such that its use on such an occasion was still far from advisable.
Sighing, Karl shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his overcoat and looked up, his eyes drawn to a particularly large and colorfully illustrated image of His benevolence hanging from the roof of a nearby storage depot. What would He, His minions, do if they knew what Karl was working on – that Karl was in fact still working, if secretly and quietly now? Nothing good, certainly. Invisibility was, after all, a very promising technology with many possible uses. Yes, they’d like nothing more than to get their greedy paws on his work. He’d taken certain measures, however, to ensure that this would never happen. Karl had learned from his mistakes: he was careful now, cultivated the image of the doddering, broken old man, lean from years of just getting by, his overcoat always dusty and increasingly covered in mended patches. He almost never spoke with strangers anymore, beyond the vaguest of pleasantries (no one who had sense these days did, come to think of it) and he dutifully allowed himself to be herded to these parades without protest. It was painful, standing here, watching this for what felt like the millionth time, and terribly tedious, but worth the sacrifice for the guise of anonymity it allowed him to maintain.
In the afternoon, after all was said and done, the officials back in their villas and the soldiers back in their barracks, Karl would make his way carefully across the city to the little cellar where he worked. He would meet with his apprentice, who would be waiting (hiding) for him there, and together they would work out a solution to this latest riddle of chemistry and mathematics. She had a mind, that one, and he would train her to be something even better than himself. She would never waste time, years, tricked by His words, by their lies. She would perfect anything he didn’t have time to complete, and well – how much easier would it be, for an assassin to succeed if that assassin was bless with a certain invisibility? The possibilities were astounding.
So Karl remained, standing, perhaps even limply waving a little flag when one was thrust at him by a passing officer, and the soldiers kept marching, marching past in their black boots, their robotic motions.
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1 comments:
Impressive. Any chance there's more to this story?
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