All In a Row
My presence lowered the room’s median age by 30 years. Side-eye glares began once I entered. Judgmental early arrivals, who had separated into their cliques, were suspicious of this newcomer. Just looking to kill some time before reconvening with the bachelor party, I accepted my helot designation by sitting along the perimeter with the other outcasts. The lighting wasn’t ideal. I was in line with an AC vent. Such are the downfalls of the supposed downtrodden.
Settling in, I realized those nearby weren’t exchanging pleasantries to make my acquaintance. Although members of a lesser caste, these strangers weren’t friends I hadn’t met. They were out to gain a higher standing by beating someone on a lower rung. Winning sets you free. Expanding your social circle doesn’t. This was a cutthroat aggregate.
It quickly became apparent who the nobility were: Mrs. S and Reggie. I couldn’t figure out their relationship. Siblings? Married? Working as a team? But all exalted their names and acted interested in their retelling of past wins. Like royalty, the pair held court. Not meaning to, I made eye contact with Mrs. S. Out of politeness, I gave her a deferential nod and grin. She relegated me to being a subordinate by replying with a condescending sneer. Bitch. Game on.
“Everyone ready?” was the only announcement needed for people to affix their concentration. As expected, the action was fast paced. Players remained focused. You’d hear the attempted witty comment randomly interjected by Reggie. Done more to throw off others than for entertainment purposes. The unfortunate ones who were distracted by this maneuver ended up on the wayside.
I kept a low-profile the first few rounds. My strategy was to act obtuse, then strike when the stakes were higher. Reggie had already notched four wins while his femme fatale had six. They were dominating and knew it. However, they didn’t grasp that any congratulatory acknowledgment from the almost rans was insincere.
Once the big jackpot came up, I decided to make my move. I’d bolster the 70% luck and the 25% skill needed with my 5% determination. The first thirty seconds put me behind. My hand barely moved as others’ feverishly bobbed up and down. Then my rally began. G Forty-eight. Need it. B Fifteen. Need it. I Thirty. Need it. And then, as if hearing it slowed down to 33 RPMs: OOOO Sevvvventyyyyy Onnnnnne. Dabbing the blank square with my ink marker, I held my card high and exclaimed “BINGO,” before partially rising from my seat.
With gloating intentions, I scanned for Mrs. S. Her back remained turned to me. She was, no doubt, engaging Reggie in some contemptuous discussion involving “beginner’s luck” or “even a busted clock is right twice a day.” I reveled in the fact Her Highness and Prince Uncharming were temporarily deposed.
Victory was financially sweet and hierarchically advancing. I departed $250 richer. But more importantly, I discarded my status as a bottom rung serf.
Sunday drive
The valley was peaceful. Cows lowed, birds twittered and the breeze rustled the leaves of the jacaranda tree, as lilac petals floated to the ground. It was a Sunday, so the little school was closed, no sounds of laughter or awkwardly played musical notes drifted across the road. The ginger cat in the converted church, sat at the door and stared out. Occasionally, a 4WD would thunder through town. Sometimes, one would stop at the little café, grinding to a halt. The bell would tinkle, like glass, then voices would drift around the tiny town.
You could hear the growl of motors approaching long before you could see them. It might have been a tractor, or a helicopter flying low. The growl began it's slow crescendo until it was a roar and the whole valley reverberated with the sound. Then they appeared one by one, two by two, three by three. And the peace was broken.
Dozens of shining metal machines. Scores of leather clad limbs. They rumbled through the town like smoke roils through a chimney, startling the birds, alarming the grazing cattle, causing the ginger cat to skitter and hide under the bed.
They didn't stop in town - they stampeded right through. The sounds of the engines echoed around the valley long after they were gone and then a silence fell. In the café, the owners sprang to life. In an hour, the café would be thumping, pulsing, slammed with orders. Cakes were sliced, coffee was ground, food was prepared. Tables were wiped, glasses polished and cutlery laid out.
The hour swept past on a wave of activity and adrenalin.
The rumble of the motors followed close behind. It was louder this time - as the entire motorcycle club rounded the final corner and began parking along the asphalt street. Some stopping beneath the jacaranda, others before the low metal gates of the school. Bike after bike - lined up like cursive dominoes.
Then the motorcycle club descended on the café. Orders for coffee flew in and for half an hour the machine hissed and ground. Cake was served on delicate floral plates - grasped in big bear hands and eaten with dainty forks on the back deck. Local delicacies were perused and purchased, everything from chutney to lemon curd eventually making it's way back into the saddle bags of the riders.
The valley was filled with laughter and mirth, as riders basked in the sunshine and supped on their coffees and teas.
Finally, they streamed out and their metal machines roared to life. One by one, two by two, three by three, they hit the road and headed back out to the highway. The echoes of the rally were still reverberating through the lush green fields when the café owners closed their doors, smiles on their faces. They loved it when the rallies came to town.
Annihilated on D-day.
Marching desperately into late march.
April showers approaching?!
The future seems bleak.
June will soon be approaching.
Hopefully we'll get there in time,not dead on arrival like the others.
I look back at the complete darkness,as I head towards the light.
Vitamin D is our dying plea and destination.
Suddenly I feel a hint of warmth,I look back,the blackness is subsiding.
No!They won't do that to us again.
They promise,and taunt!
And leave us in the dark!
I heard of one time they complained of heat,and they were obliterated with rain.
I have to grin and bear it!
No complaining they said.
Who are they?
They call themselves the overlord.
All I know is that if we're quiet they're quiet.
They sleep quarterly,and awake early June.
If they hear us they'll signal to the subliminal powers above.
We slowly and quietly creep into late may.
The heat is starting to rise.
Were getting close!
Trees in the near distance,fruit and herbs.
All of a sudden as we reach out for nourishment.
All the plants and trees are sucked in and through the ground.
The sky goes dark.
It must be June!
Then there's a loud voice from the sky.
We are the overlord.
You are trespassing on restricted grounds!
You must turn back!
Or else!
We will not go back.
Please,please.Vitamin.
Suddenly the heat becomes unbearable.
We drop to our knees begging for rain.
Not caring for the early consequences of the past.
Bullets of rain.
Bodies dropping to the ground.
Then complete silence.
That day June 6th,1,944 despairing souls were vanquished with an onslaught of vitamin d.