Parade

The parade marched, danced, and pranced down Main Street, the entire town joining in a festive orgasm of delight. The inclusive nature of the procession meant that everyone was assigned to one of several variegated assemblies. There was a troop of cheerleaders, sports teams, amateur acrobats, and dancing animal costumes. Strangely, everyone was carrying their own tuba, and the deep blasts rebounded off the stone edifices and pavement majestically.

Upon reaching one end of the town, the entire cavalcade turned about and headed in the opposite direction. This continued ad nauseam until everyone was dead.

The Pied Piper strikes again.

Buffalo Parade

The brown, mangy forelock and beard of the drum major serves as a baton for the rest of the herd despite being littered with straw. He marches forward without waiting for his retinue to follow. Their accordance is coded in.

The troop rushes forward like a flood of molasses, slow at every moment, but before we know it, we're drowning in buffalo, breathing in their musk. They pretend to ignore us as we snap photos and move as far too close. They seem more like comfortable bedding than a physical threat.

Neither group understands the true danger it is in.

Leaving Home

When he slammed the door, he did not say goodbye. He just left. He left the house, the street, the small town, all the narrow-mindedness he had endured for eighteen years. No one was going to tell him what to do or what to believe.

He boarded the train, and soon he was in boot camp. Then he was a full-fledged soldier. He had enough anger inside to slay the enemy. Before long he was on a troop ship, and then in the forests of France where he began to miss the town where he grew up.

It was 1942.

From Guest Contributor Anita G. Gorman