D U O
burtschips
Posts: 734
This event is seconds long.
When you move across unstable and broken non-ground you move gingerly. More or less so depending on your natural agility and balance. The non-ground is made up of buildings' rubble, shattered war machines, dead animals, and undeterminable fragments of past wholeness.
This man-made layer sits above the Earth and is the product of groups of men firing weapons at other groups of men firing weapons. This is the immediate cause. The original cause is less clear - where do you draw the line and say "This is it - the original cause". It would be a personal decision.
If I walk over stable ground I do so mostly without thinking, it is an action which requires no thought. It has been repeated until it is a programmed sequence. When I was a lot younger I had to think firstly how or what was required to walk and then focus all my intelligent energy on carrying out steps. I had no further thought capacity to think about when or how I would die, who or what I would love - if I would or could love. As you learn you free thought, if you are intelligent enough to think deeply you may be in for trouble - it is a possible problem.
Walking over unstable ground returns you in a small way to your childhood. I concentrate on my steps, look at my feet and adjust and re-adjust my balance. I forget about death and love.
I am in the middle of what would have been a town centre, an urban environment. In the situation I am in now, these are the most deadly environments. Walking over unstable ground relieves me partially of my sense of fear. The sweat turns cool on my brow and the tension in my neck eases as my head is rotated and tilted to keep me on my feet.
This is helped also as I am in a group of people who will not kill me. I am among friends, or the closest thing I have to friends in such a situation.
This situation and environment I refer to is war. I am in a warzone, I am on a side, I am participating. I don't know how I came to participate, it happened to me. I am not a soldier or a killer but I may have killed and I wear a uniform and I am in an army of men and women. Our purpose is to win.
I travel backwards but also seemingly forwards. This heightens the care with which I move. The group I am amongst insulates me. I am reminded of the true story of floating men, safety in numbers, less chance of having a leg removed from your body.
I am becoming detached - the streets have converged into a sqaure which is defined by wrecks of grand buildings - good architecture. Articulation. As we tipple into the square we disperse as though we have been scattered to a frontier, not wanting to remain clustered centrally, in the middle of relative openness. It is odd that we lose contact in this way, a blind reaction.
All of us are aware of possible death. I know that in streets and buildings are men and women who are on the other side. The otherside are also trying to win, which means they have instructions to kill the opposition. This will bring them closer to victory. As a group in this square we are the opposition as they are too.
My concentration wanes as I register movement from the corner of my eye. I'll never know what it was I saw - when I turned to look at what it was I saw I could see nothing. Whatever it was that had moved had gone. I stumbled and lost my footing. I did not fall but I had to put an arm out to stop this from happening. I stood almost straight up and looked around. We were strung along the edge of the square, close to the buildings, seperated by some distance. We were not together. I was scared and sat or dropped back against the wall.
I think I knew that I was going to die very soon. I think I knew that this was going to happen within seconds.
The square must have been very beautiful once. It still retained a beauty but not a comfortable one. In front of me was a building which had the features of a church. It was solid and stout and rose upwards getting narrower. The doorway was arched with a recessed pair of timber doors. Above this arch was a smaller arch. The building was symmetrical. It had a tower and a fractured spire. The stone surface was scarred and pot holed adding relief and effect. It did not dominate the square but it certainly controlled it, holding the upper hand. It looked sturdy and sure of its place. It was soothing to look at. It soothed the knowledge that was not leaving.
There is a stuttering - a period where things are difficult to convey - there is no fluidity. In pressing on you might feel lost, unsure of a destination. This is how I feel. I will carry on until I manage to find a coherent flow.
I am directly opposite the arched doorway and the timber doors. I am centred on the doorway. If I stare straight ahead and look up from my eye level (I am sitting against the wall) to the sky I take in a slice of the building. The highest opening is within the tower, it is simply framed and dark. I look up at it and try to see though it into the darkness but I only see a flat blackness. The spire is damaged and is no longer ture. It is tiled with blue black slates but has lost many.
If you got this far, thanks. First part of a short story. Any comments welcome.
When you move across unstable and broken non-ground you move gingerly. More or less so depending on your natural agility and balance. The non-ground is made up of buildings' rubble, shattered war machines, dead animals, and undeterminable fragments of past wholeness.
This man-made layer sits above the Earth and is the product of groups of men firing weapons at other groups of men firing weapons. This is the immediate cause. The original cause is less clear - where do you draw the line and say "This is it - the original cause". It would be a personal decision.
If I walk over stable ground I do so mostly without thinking, it is an action which requires no thought. It has been repeated until it is a programmed sequence. When I was a lot younger I had to think firstly how or what was required to walk and then focus all my intelligent energy on carrying out steps. I had no further thought capacity to think about when or how I would die, who or what I would love - if I would or could love. As you learn you free thought, if you are intelligent enough to think deeply you may be in for trouble - it is a possible problem.
Walking over unstable ground returns you in a small way to your childhood. I concentrate on my steps, look at my feet and adjust and re-adjust my balance. I forget about death and love.
I am in the middle of what would have been a town centre, an urban environment. In the situation I am in now, these are the most deadly environments. Walking over unstable ground relieves me partially of my sense of fear. The sweat turns cool on my brow and the tension in my neck eases as my head is rotated and tilted to keep me on my feet.
This is helped also as I am in a group of people who will not kill me. I am among friends, or the closest thing I have to friends in such a situation.
This situation and environment I refer to is war. I am in a warzone, I am on a side, I am participating. I don't know how I came to participate, it happened to me. I am not a soldier or a killer but I may have killed and I wear a uniform and I am in an army of men and women. Our purpose is to win.
I travel backwards but also seemingly forwards. This heightens the care with which I move. The group I am amongst insulates me. I am reminded of the true story of floating men, safety in numbers, less chance of having a leg removed from your body.
I am becoming detached - the streets have converged into a sqaure which is defined by wrecks of grand buildings - good architecture. Articulation. As we tipple into the square we disperse as though we have been scattered to a frontier, not wanting to remain clustered centrally, in the middle of relative openness. It is odd that we lose contact in this way, a blind reaction.
All of us are aware of possible death. I know that in streets and buildings are men and women who are on the other side. The otherside are also trying to win, which means they have instructions to kill the opposition. This will bring them closer to victory. As a group in this square we are the opposition as they are too.
My concentration wanes as I register movement from the corner of my eye. I'll never know what it was I saw - when I turned to look at what it was I saw I could see nothing. Whatever it was that had moved had gone. I stumbled and lost my footing. I did not fall but I had to put an arm out to stop this from happening. I stood almost straight up and looked around. We were strung along the edge of the square, close to the buildings, seperated by some distance. We were not together. I was scared and sat or dropped back against the wall.
I think I knew that I was going to die very soon. I think I knew that this was going to happen within seconds.
The square must have been very beautiful once. It still retained a beauty but not a comfortable one. In front of me was a building which had the features of a church. It was solid and stout and rose upwards getting narrower. The doorway was arched with a recessed pair of timber doors. Above this arch was a smaller arch. The building was symmetrical. It had a tower and a fractured spire. The stone surface was scarred and pot holed adding relief and effect. It did not dominate the square but it certainly controlled it, holding the upper hand. It looked sturdy and sure of its place. It was soothing to look at. It soothed the knowledge that was not leaving.
There is a stuttering - a period where things are difficult to convey - there is no fluidity. In pressing on you might feel lost, unsure of a destination. This is how I feel. I will carry on until I manage to find a coherent flow.
I am directly opposite the arched doorway and the timber doors. I am centred on the doorway. If I stare straight ahead and look up from my eye level (I am sitting against the wall) to the sky I take in a slice of the building. The highest opening is within the tower, it is simply framed and dark. I look up at it and try to see though it into the darkness but I only see a flat blackness. The spire is damaged and is no longer ture. It is tiled with blue black slates but has lost many.
If you got this far, thanks. First part of a short story. Any comments welcome.
Salut baloo
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