His weapon rested on his shoulder, his helmet and armour fixed securely to his body. Courageously the convict entered the arena knowing he’d be outnumbered five to one.
The barrage began and lasted hours. Protecting his own and his nation, he fended off each attack.
A hatred for motherland grew, he must return the urn.
The Ashes. Part cricket match, entirely a war!
Part one
The bag was removed from my head and I was lead through the house but such was my state, I struggled for details. Following one and being pushed by another, there could have been four or five people in the house, I couldn’t be sure.
I’d lost track of the time but it must have been a few hours since I’d been walking home now.
I’d been returning from a night out and was only only meters from my home when I noticed a dark coloured car with its interior lights on. “Lost tourists?”, I remember thinking before they suddenly burst from their vehicle; knocking me to the ground before shoving a bag over my head and my body into the boot. It happened too quick to struggle.
Now as they approached the doorway, my returning sense of awareness and will to survive combined. As if the door were to hell itself, I fought as hard as I could.
It was no use, the more i fought the more clenched fists and boots struck my frantic body. It was over.
My head thumped in the door on the way through as I stumbled into the room, collapsing on the cold tiles within.
Part two
Light slowly returned to my vision as I lifted my head from the cold brown tiles.
The memory of being kidnapped drowned out by the deafening, and near debilitating ringing in my ears. How long had I been here?
Light turned to dark and dark turned to light – another day had passed. Waking, the ringing had ceased but had been replaced by a terrible thirst.
I pulled myself to my feet for the first time since being thrown in this room come dungeon. Foreign machinery, four cupboard doors and a sink.
Turning the cold tap, the pipes rattled like the fear in my heart. A brown sludge dribbled slowly from the tap as I heard footsteps outside.
Part three
The door flung open bright light filled a the small room. My eyes struggling eyes couldn’t adjust quick enough to see make out the figure but they made their presence felt.
Slapping my hands away from the sink they pushed me towards the machinery in the corner before slamming the door shut.
A voiced bellowed in the distance. “Get to work!” Ignoring both my fear and thirst, i opened the obvious hatch door in the first machine. I thought I’d better try and figure this out before they return.
Try as I might is was useless, the machinery was like none I’d ever seen. Straight lines formed its exterior and smooth round edges appeared inside.
Then it hit me, “I’d heard that bellowing voice before”.
Part four
Distracted from the task at hand, I stared through the cracks if the blinds. That voice?
It wasn’t so much the voice I recalled but the harshness of tone; demanding and disappointed with a touch of desperation.
“Get back to work!” The words echoed as I sifted through the mountain of rags like memories in my mind. I sorted colours from whites as I did good from bad before dropping to my knees, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Get back to work” I laughed, “cover the left flank, put in a bit of effort kids, are you serious ref!?” The footsteps outside the door grew louder with each phrase but I no longer feared their sound.
Two figures appeared at the door this time, both far less intimidating than the one that came before them.
“Mum, I was scared of Uncle Bob when he’d come to my football games and yell from the sidelines but are you serious? ” I questioned. “I know I never wash my own clothes but this is a little extreme isn’t it … even for you!?”
A four part instagram series inspired by images of my mother in-law’s laundry
Like fresh spring seedlings, they struggled out, their heads barely visible to the eye. It was then, the journey began.
For weeks they grew together as a team, their adventure lengthening with each day.
The journey took a month but standing on his upper lip, they were still committed to the cause.
United we mo!
This piece is dedicated not only to Movember but the millions of men living with a mental illness or past and present suffers of prostate or testicular cancer. To support the cause visit www.mobro.co/lukereynolds
Chilling screams, muffled whimpers then silence.
Three hours ago he was hanging his head over the car park railing.
The vomit was still on his shoes but the paralysing fear was but a memory. He held his newborn baby and was lost for words. In the first minute of her life, she had silenced fear.
The sixth and final installment of Details emerge without volume
Escaping her Mother’s glare, Jenna’s eyes scoured the living room floor. Pausing on an open box beside the television cabinet, Jenna spotted a faded photo of herself as a child.
Full of love she wanted to speak, to apologise and praise but Mother’s words muted her desire.
“I’m not even angry Jenna … I’m disappointed”
Part five of a series on ‘silence’ – Details Emerge Without Volume.
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