**Beep… beep beep… beep beep beep… FOUND!
My first ever guest blogpost on here! And it has the double satisfying pleasure of being written by an uber amazing friend of mine. His mind is a treasure field and I absolutely love it. I would blaze his identity in liquid gold and diamond stones, but he prefers to go by ‘Anonymous’ -wealthy people do that, you know 😉
Er, this is still a copyrighted piece though.
If you’re reading this guest blogger, thank you, you are Midas.
I hope his brilliance touches you as deeply as it does me. Stop all movements (except for your scrolling fingers’), this one will require your concentration. Good. Now, enjoy his contribution.
I know I said my tale wasn’t epic, but it seems ironical that epic is the way that I’ve decided to explain myself.
I find it the most apt.
How else am I to attempt to explain the calm and not-so-calm state of mind in which I find myself? In this instance, I’m not anxious, it’s just, that calm must switch to aggressive soon. And it seems somehow funny that one knows he’s about to get agitated in say 10 seconds, and for the first 9 seconds he sits apparently unperturbed; as quiet as you may want. Not baring teeth from the 3rd second to show any indication of intent as the canines would do.
So here’s the epic: I am the member of an army… Hannibal is at the Gates… and I’m one of the brave, (or is it choice-less?), men who get the honour of being the welcome committee, frontline, all in a day’s work, I suppose.
One way or the other, by mutual agreement or through a consideration of history’s repetitive patterns we know that no terms have been sought and none given. The relentless drumming and banging of their improvised brass knocker has since gone from being a startling interruption, to an incessant noise, to an ominous sign, to psychological torture, to the normalcy of a pained reality…the dulcet tones of a sadist’s lullaby: harbinger of something inevitable.
With every hit, the gates creak, the beams rattle, the posts give in a little, but the structure holds.
Extra rickety this morning our age-old gate is.
Mine eyes, and those of the myriad others around me behold no illusions: these proud gates will come down this day! So we stand. With hoisted shields and girded loins, uneasy smiles and nervous glances, endless cycles of the cresting and falling of our courage. Unearthly sounds carry over the walls…” but that’s just our ears playing tricks, it’s humans on the other side” *then with a faltering smile* “or is it?”
By the way we have spent our time, we’re as prepared as we’re going to be.
Which is about as comforting as it is not. And so we wait, calm yet not so calm. It is nothing less than this situation requires. When these gates come crashing down, we know the gloves will come off. And as most seasoned veterans would tell you, your carefully laid out plans take on the persona of treacherous comrades and race full throttle into the chaotic courts where Lord Murphy presides. Out with the calm and in with the aggression; passivity will be your epitaph! You will conquer OR you will be conquered. Logistically simple.
I, and the men that surround me, am jolted from my reverie by yet another thud. No different from the hundreds that have preceded it… not different- not in any way explicable, that is.
It begins as a whisper and then very quickly gathers pace. Hannibal must’ve heard it too for his forces abruptly halt their efforts. Now everyone stands motionless as it reverberates: the piercing shriek of a deafening silence. Then in a flurry of activity the helmets come on and the swords drawn.
We know without a doubt that the next hit will be the last.
Silent prayers uttered, some…that the next hit would not come. Some, that it comes so that the torture can end either way. And yet some, simply for their courage to hold as it’s clear to see why the next hit must/will come.
And then it comes. For the fleetest of seconds all eyes shut as each man receives his answer. Even before the gates hit the ground what is to come flashes before our closed lids: The first “hellos” are exchanged as arrows whizz past. Some finding their mark, the bulk splintering off shields and cannoning off the walls. And then the charge with the war cry (the only thing powerful enough to propel men into such…dare I call it madness). As the seconds race by the distance between both raging armies shrinks rapidly. Maintain the pace else you be stampeded by your on-coming army.
All thought condenses into a single moment, and just like that you’re out of time; distance erased…you can tell the colour of your enemies pupils. Shields up… anticipating the collision of wills. A sharp intake of breath… the fray.
Are you ready?