Saturday, March 27, 2010

Bad Day

As I lay on my cot, wondering what had become of my fellow travelers, I heard the beating of drums in the distance. I closed my eyes. The first person had walked with the captors calmly. She hadn’t tried to struggle at all, assuming she was being brought in front of the leader of the tribe to explain our sudden appearance. The next few people went timidly, looking back over their shoulders, a tell-tale fear in their eyes. The last two had struggled. Kicking, shouting, screaming, and being beat down until they were unconscious and unceremoniously dragged toward the sound of the drums.

The drumming became more intense. Low chanting had begun to float through the heavy jungle vines and find their way to my ears. It wouldn’t be long before they reached a fevered pitch and three strong men from the tribe would come to escort me to the drums, like all the others had been. The chants would end and I would walk silently to the solitary beat of a drum, one that would mark time in seconds. Step. Step. Step. It would demand.

The voices were ascending. I swallowed although my mouth was dry. The leaves outside of the hut rustled. I stood straight, emphasizing my height, in the middle of the little hut. I could hear the unmistakable sound of the wooden end of the spears scraping against the ground. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the stale breath of the room. The door slid open and a masked person peered inside, its clawed hand summoning me forward. I realized it was going to be a very bad day.

*** One Minute Writer ***

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