Look at that, a fresh new week. Shock fades, grief remains, but deep breaths and we keep moving. So coffee pot is on and brewing away, filling the house with a wonderful aroma and the anticipation of much needed caffeine and the timer is set for fifteen minutes. So let’s see what we can make from the sentence we have as a starter today, shall we? Let’s begin.
I think I fumbled a bit with this and felt a little confused by the visuals. I like the premise but I think I will have to get some landscaping features in there and seriously think through logistics before this can go anywhere. It is a neat kernel of an idea for a Monday morning though.
Monday, May 16th: He tumbled backwards into the people behind him.
He tumbled backwards into the people behind him. The pressure in front of him was too great, he couldn’t stop himself. The crowds were pressing in and there was nowhere else to go. He was stuck in the middle of the crowd. The crowd that wouldn’t stop moving. He could hear the yells of the people behind as well as those in front.
From his vantage point he could tell that something was going on, but not what. It was a peaceful protest. No one had caused any damage to anything. It had been a mostly silent protest as well, each of them standing in memory of the fallen. They stood silently and peacefully and all seemed to be well. The protest was slated to end for the day within the hour, the point made to those watching, if luck was with them.
Things were not silent now and people were pushing. The person he landed on pushed back and for a moment he was propelled upright. Then he saw the troops advancing. It wasn’t what he expected and even as the sight registered, he was pushed again. This time he lost his footing. The person pushing him from behind went flying forward, sprawling over him. They too were soon pushed back. Knowing that he could easily be crushed if he was down when the crowds shifted, he began to crawl to the edge. It didn’t matter what edge at this point. If he couldn’t stand he would be trampled, sooner or later. Given the number of them it was inevitable.
He chose left because it was the direction his head was facing and began to crawly through the crown. People swayed above him pushing this way and that and he felt as though he was standing in a field of wheat during an uncertain wind. The thought threatened to bring him back to his childhood, but he had left the wheat fields of the plains behind long ago. The capitol city of the empire only saw nature in its few well landscaped parts. Any food its denizens consumed was shipped in from far away. Given the fires that swept through his home town and the surrounding fields earlier that year he knew that food wasn’t coming from Vernat, not this year.
He continued crawling, trying to keep from being stepped on. Those in the crowd were trying to maintain their peaceful silence, but he could hear whispers, muttering rumbling through the crowd. He managed to reach the edge of the crowd. With relief, and several bruised fingers, he started to rise. A scream sounded. It poured forth from many throats at the same time. The shifting of the people went from a steady sway back and forth to a violent rush backwards.
Half risen he was knocked off of his feet and sent sliding. He opened his mouth and gave a yell as he topped towards the open face of a drainage pipe. Here it was meant to lead run off away from the city center and into nearby lake. There were miles of tunnel under the city for just such a purpose.
He was unable to stop his momentum and even as he slid he saw that the gate had been removed from the pipe. He slid into the drainage pipe as easily as he would down a slide at a water park, although the rough concrete did not provide as smooth a passage. He fell down into the dark. He splashed down even as he began to hear gunshots over the sound of the screaming.
Ten til Midnight 