Darkness, and silence
A caravan of weary travelers, an army moving together with its families and possessions, finally approaches a city visible in the distance, to the west. Rumors, some contradictory, rustle through the exhausted community. Some are filled with hope; others, with dread and terror.
Night begins to fall, and the group stops to rest. There is no moon this night, and the sky is overcast. Just as the last remnants of light from the sun escape over the western horizon, those at the front of the caravan hear a rapidly approaching whistling sound, followed by a tremendous explosion behind them, in the middle of their camp.
Before anyone can quite make sense of what has just happened, there is another whistling, this time from the side, and another artillery shell explodes, again in the middle of the camp. One of the warriors near the front edge of the group stares in amazement: as the second shell explodes, he sees, in the strobe flash against the darkness, bodies flying. Equipment, baggage, everything-- as if an invisible angry giant has smashed down a fist, shaking the earth and making it jump like a table top struck by an unreasoning child.
Gunfire soon begins to rattle out, seemingly from everywhere, and in all directions. It's very difficult to distinguish the firing of the travelers outward from that of the ambush force all around. There is screaming, shouting of orders-- hundreds of voices mixing into a rising bedlam. The darkness deepens; the contrast against occasional shell explosions and incessant muzzle flashes is stark.
The bombardment stops, the gunfire stops. There is the sound of a few isolated whimpers, widely scattered. Otherwise, there is almost no sound. Again, the rustling of whispers, more tentative and intermittent than the rustling before sunset: Has the prophet leader of the caravan been killed?
The darkness is complete. The silence is now utterly unbroken.
Night begins to fall, and the group stops to rest. There is no moon this night, and the sky is overcast. Just as the last remnants of light from the sun escape over the western horizon, those at the front of the caravan hear a rapidly approaching whistling sound, followed by a tremendous explosion behind them, in the middle of their camp.
Before anyone can quite make sense of what has just happened, there is another whistling, this time from the side, and another artillery shell explodes, again in the middle of the camp. One of the warriors near the front edge of the group stares in amazement: as the second shell explodes, he sees, in the strobe flash against the darkness, bodies flying. Equipment, baggage, everything-- as if an invisible angry giant has smashed down a fist, shaking the earth and making it jump like a table top struck by an unreasoning child.
Gunfire soon begins to rattle out, seemingly from everywhere, and in all directions. It's very difficult to distinguish the firing of the travelers outward from that of the ambush force all around. There is screaming, shouting of orders-- hundreds of voices mixing into a rising bedlam. The darkness deepens; the contrast against occasional shell explosions and incessant muzzle flashes is stark.
The bombardment stops, the gunfire stops. There is the sound of a few isolated whimpers, widely scattered. Otherwise, there is almost no sound. Again, the rustling of whispers, more tentative and intermittent than the rustling before sunset: Has the prophet leader of the caravan been killed?
The darkness is complete. The silence is now utterly unbroken.
posted by Joel GL at 5:09 AM
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