|
Faerdin -> Here's How We Roll Submission (6/11/2014 1:15:13)
|
Stars, Hide Your Fires
By Faerdin
Even the thickest smog does not make the Moon disappear.
So hung the hallowed blankets of smoke and fumes in a starless sky. Man bid the heavenly bodies not to see their dark and deep desires, not to hear the howling of a thousand more laying waste in the California streets, not to smell the deadened bodies in roiling darkness astride their earnings, not to taste death upon the air- yet their gaze was eternal, unflinching, and many.
You cannot lie to the stars. They will see right through you.
So their gaze was met by a modest car that roared along the road. Its paint was black as night and, despite every attempt at applying a fresh coat, chipped to expose a core of blood red rust. Headlights shone halfheartedly through the groves of oranges that whizzed past, searching for the prisoners They needed to put down. The property seemed to stretch on forever- one could hardly believe it belonged to a single man- until they found it.
A house along the field. It was an awfully large house.
With a subdued hum the car came to a halt, and out of the doors stepped two men. Their uniforms were as black as the car. Their faces shared the same look of listless detachment. Their strides shared the weight of wading through the blackened summer air- perfect for harvest and for little much else- and so it weighed upon them as they reached out to knock on the door. But before they could even touch the wood, it fell before them and revealed a bulbous man. Behind the veil of ruddy cheeks and a sweat-soaked gown glimmered eyes that were alive with geniality.
"Evening, boys."
"Good evening, sir. We got a call about someone rummaging through your food."
"Yes, yes," The Man stuttered, sweeping away the droplets with a handkerchief. "I happened to be in my study when I heard some commotion in my pantry downstairs. Now, this wouldn't be the first time there was some riff-raff in my stores, and I think I got a good nose for theft. If you boys could put it in the big house and send a message to the rest, I'd be... most appreciative."
He tapped his nose. It was a brief gesture, and it was understood immediately. "Yessir. We'll take care of it."
"Good, good," The Man said with a smile that widened less with sincerity and more with kindness. "I trust you... understand what it is I want. Teach them a lesson, boys." He patted an officer on his shoulder and retreated into the estate.
The first officer turned to his fellow with the ease of a wind-kissed willow and whispered, "I guess I'll check aroun' the inside. You riffle through the field and see if anyun's hidin' in there."
The second officer's eyes narrowed. They had been on him the whole time. The first one could tell. He had gotten used to it since joining the police force, but no one can get used to knowing the hate-driven words that float in a person's head. "They don't run. They think they can talk out of anything. Why don't I go in with you?"
"I kin handle it. Trus' me."
Rolled eyes and a cacophony of curses left in a single breath as the second officer batted his flashlight, beating some beams of light from the broken mess before taking off into the field. The first slumped a little in relief and sallied forth into the mansion- swallowing him as a shadow of the great and powerful beast. Shadows dense as pitch dominated the parlor and forced the officer to squint and fumble for the light switch. Yet he could not find it.
Nor could he find the flashlight he was issued. His heart sank. It felt weighted as though by chains, but he pressed on regardless.
So he wound his way through the Man's estate- weaving around the many grand structures, the lavish possessions, the monuments to material wants that stood tall as the Leviathan. But to the mind's eye they seemed like monsters in the dark. The officer tried to distract himself with a scrap of poetry he remembered hearing before he left to find his own destiny.
"Arange orchards across the sacred lan', they're Eden to the countless Adams and Eves..."
Then he saw it. A door that acted as a floodgate to the light that shone behind it. Someone was in there, and unless it was their gentleman caller, he had found his quarry. The officer fumbled for his rifle and leaned down to peer into the keyhole of the door.
It was most certainly the pantry. He saw a ghost of a man inside- a man who clearly saw the worst the world had to offer. The officer's breath hitched, and the man jolted.
"Who'sere?"
The officer opened the door and stayed within the frame. He did not want to show his face to the man. "Come quietly, sir. I don' wanna hurt ya. Yer trespassin' on priva' property."
"I wus jus' gettin' food fer ma fambly! The littluns' stumachs are a rumblin' an' I can't do nothin' ta stop it!"
"Come quietly," the officer said dumbly. "Please."
A humorless chuckle creaked from the broken man's throat as quickly as it came. "I can'! I can' do it no more! The guvmen' thinks everyun has time to stan' in lines an' wait fer food tha' the rich folk have moun'ains of- hardly know wha' ter do wiffit- and people tern us away 'cus we're 'Okies,' we're 'takin' everyun's jobs' and hav no righ' tuh be here. Even tho 'th' lightnin' cometh out of the east an' shineth even unto the West.'"
The officer frowned at the twisting of the Lord's verse. "Please, don' make me do this. I want ta help ya. Ya stay here any longer an' this guy is gonna havvit in fer ya. Please."
The migrant bristled. "We're Adkins. We care fer ar own. Anyun' else'd let us die like rats!" Silence as dense as the darkness that lay in wait outside swirled around the room, and the migrant coughed and choked as his eyes grew damp with tears. His next word was short yet spoke volumes. "Why?"
"I dunno."
So the oppressive silence returned.
"Sometime, ya can' expec' ta find a rainbow in a lightnin' storm."
A peal of thunder rent the silence. The migrant man fell to the floor of the pantry and lay limp in the pooling blood, his life extinguished little more than a whimper. The dimming hope- the clambering despair still rung in his eyes. Now it would forever resound in the courtroom of life- never to pursue an appeal and plead for the judge's mercy. Black smoke snaked through the pantry as another shot shook the world, and the man lay still.
The officer turned to find his fellow with a raised gun and the countenance of a mask. "We got him. Let's move him out and get back to the station. I'll tell the resident that we took care of everything." Then he left.
It was no more than a minute alone with the weight of his misstep that the officer picked up his rifle and painted the pantry with another splash of red.
***
Approaching the podium was a bulbous man. Behind the veil of ruddy cheeks and a sweat-soaked suit glimmered eyes that were alive with geniality. The Man pointed to a wide-eyed reporter and inquired, "Yes? What is your question?"
"Can you make a statement on the death of Officer Adkins? Do the police have any leads on what happened?"
"Yes, yes," the Man said, wiping away the droplets with a handkerchief. "The passing of Officer Adkins was a grievous accident that allegedly occurred when he was called onto the scene of a minor incident. Rest assured that we are doing everything in our power to look into it and figure out what went wrong. Next question?"
|
|
|
|
