Monday, 22 February 2010

UNTIMELY #14 – A Sunday Walk

We awoke an hour before dawn and left the house when even Mother was still asleep. Our bodies ached and we stank of the nightsweat, could feel it in our shirts damp against our skin, but we didn’t dare wash for the noise. And so we left in silence, taking the parcels we’d hidden under our pillows, the dry bread and cheese, the fruit and nuts, and half an onion I’d managed to smuggle into my pocket during supper. We had a litre of father’s wine between us and I felt very grown up.

The moon was gone and the sky lightening as we walked in the misty gray along the edges of the fields. There was a low fog and our clothes wet now with condensation. The cold got inside our coats and our gloves and our scarves and we walked rigid and tense to ward it off.

At first light we came to an inn on the outskirts of the city. There was a fire and men talking and the sounds of dishes being washed. We stood close up against the long wooden bar and were grateful for the warmth. Slowly we drank the coffee, lapping the bitter water and feeling our spirits rise.


And so we stormed the barricade
And threw our rocks over the flaming sawhorses
Bureaus ancient and smoking
Lacquered wood peeling and cracking and hissing in the flames
Popping and creaking and collapsing with a sudden rush of air
Whoosh down and bang and the smoke billowing forth in acrid clouds
And we ran back for more
Tearing up the streets
And we took the pickaxes
And clattered the cobbles
And ran back to the flames, hurling our missiles onto their shelters


In the night the fires burned and the streetlights didn’t come on and we’d never seen the city so dark. Smoke and clouds blocked out the stars and we ran from blaze to blaze and felt along the walls with one hand when we couldn’t see, when it was pitch, but always we moved forwards. When we heard voices we ducked into doorways, hid under cars, and waited for the boots to pass, our faces close against the stones, the tyres, the rainbow puddles of oil that filled our noses with the scent of battle.

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