The Scattered and the Dead (Book 2.5)
Page 24
The rumors abound about how exactly this peace among the savages came to pass. A mysterious leader to rally around? Strategic marriages among the powerful families of rival districts? Who can say? It all sounds too much like Game of Thrones to me.
In any case, the general feeling is that now that they aren’t spilling each other’s blood, they may want to go back to trying to spill ours.
My military adviser favors a proactive approach. A preemptive strike. Lucas wants a war, and he wants it badly. My other advisers seem to agree with varying levels of fervor. Sometimes I think I’m the only reason the surviving clusters of humanity in this wedge of the world aren’t busy at work slicing each other’s throats.
That’s me, though. The voice of reason.
We’ll keep extra men in the guard towers, and we’ll wait and see.
I took pills some time ago. Waiting for them to kick in. The proprietary blend, of course.
The pink ones wake me up, give me the energy to make it through the day.
The blue ones dial back the anxiety from all of that sped up energy.
The white ones slow down the spinning that the blues sometimes cause, make the ground solid again, which helps with the walking.
Of course, if I go overboard with the white ones, I don’t remember the days or weeks so well. Months, sometimes. Gotta be careful with those little guys. Only a half of a tablet for me, please.
The rain has slowed now. Died back to a trickle. Looking at the black clouds swirling up there, though, I don’t think it’s quite done. Just a little lull.
Still, the whole village comes to life whenever the rain falters for a bit. I see kids out playing in the mud. People hustling from place to place, trying to finish errands before the bottom falls out of the sky again and the water comes.
It is fascinating to sit here. To watch them all living their strange lives.
Heat swells in the meat of my face as I write. I know the pills are starting to work now. The pink ones always fire up first, and I’ll ride that wave of energy deep into the night, no matter how hard the blue and white ones try to fight it.
I haven’t slept in nine days. And I don’t plan to start on this night. No thank you.
When I look down the hill, I see all of those cabins, all of those people swarming around. Crazy how this world turned out. How it somehow belongs to me. All of those men and women and children, I mean.
The little ant farm living just for me.
The Scattered and the Dead
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Casting Shadows Everywhere
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Tim McBain writes because life is short, and he wants to make something awesome before he dies. Additionally, he likes to move it, move it.
You can connect with Tim on Twitter at @realtimmcbain or via email at tim@timmcbain.com.
L.T. Vargus grew up in Hell, Michigan, which is a lot smaller, quieter, and less fiery than one might imagine. When not click-clacking away at the keyboard, she can be found sewing, fantasizing about food, and rotting her brain in front of the TV.
If you want to wax poetic about pizza or cats, you can contact L.T. (the L is for Lex) at ltvargus9@gmail.com or on Twitter @ltvargus.
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