Appointed the position of outer palace guard at age 17. Three interior "rings" of guards follow his station, if he is killed, the royalty, the visiting dignitaries, the higher-up servant staff, the priceless art and collections, the as-yet-unannounced and unborn prince, will all still be protected by three sets of guardian warriors. To be the outer ring, to be the first line of defense, is to be deemed the strongest, he thought. He looked into his gray lunch case and took out an apple. A kind of madness sets in being an outer guard, the tension is constant and inescapable. The view of the valley is vast, and any black dot on the horizon could be a threat. There are peddling salesmen and hungry peasants and sick villagers and lost noblemen, and all of them deserve to be treated as the souls before God that they are. None deserve to be killed from 300 paces or screamed at with such force as to drive them mad with primal fear. None deserve that, and yet that would be so much the easier solution. A kind of madness sets in and makes itself at home, indeed, he thought. As it does with everyone eventually, he supposes, but particularly in this profession. Particularly when a nuisance lingers just beyond the far row of bushes, skulking and stalking and staring and waiting. He knows ultimately that it's a troubled village boy with no parents and no tongue and missing half his brain, swaying and moaning like the walking dead yet meaning not an ounce of harm, even laughing on occasion, but sometimes he can't turn away from the idea that he is performing an act, playing the sick and stricken spirit to weaken his guardly resolve and then once upon a dreary gloaming ram a sharpened stick through the side of his neck when he's turned to grab a fallen cherry from the ground. Yes, a certain madness sets in where going home will not wash it clean, where sleep will provide no solace, love no escape, faith no hope. No, instead, the tension slowly seizes from a spot in his back, constricts him into a board, an expressionless and emotionless board, standing guard outside the palace. The king, out for a walk amidst the spring flowers, sees this guard and says, "This. This is what I want a guard to look like."
Luc - "Backbone Nuance Give Millions Hope"
The sounds and plans and numbers of a soft sweater, a fire, a carpet and a kiss, reverse-engineered.
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Posted by Dan at October 23, 2009 6:42 PMHaha, nice work on the 'Luc - Hi' description. Totally captured the building anxiety, took me to Spaghetti Western scenes & current political dilemmas all at once. Crazy, thanks!
Posted by Luke at October 26, 2009 6:25 PMan absolute short and sweet winner
Posted by camille at October 26, 2009 9:20 PM