This
is the seventh post in an ongoing online game of Consequences Each successive entry begins with the closing lines of its predecessor.
Entries are 250 words long, and are linked thematically. The series
started with Hydragenic and was followed by Patteran Pages, Porous Borders, The Middlewesterner, Feathers of Hope, Blaugustine, and Small Change. The series will continue in a day or two at Via Negativa.
EX-HALE
“ Portez-moi à une nunnery! “
Bells pealed in the distance. The road was shrouded in dust. He was drenched in sweat. His right shoulder was numb with pain. He had been carrying her in his arms, it seems like forever. Around him, dust devils rose on wings coaxed by the relentless wind. She wailed. In French. Half French, what with that nunnery business coming up at intervals like a tasteless refrain. He did not speak French, but that was never a problem before. Mostly because she never spoke French either to him before.
“ Portez-moi à une nunnery! “
Maybe it wasn’t bells that pealed, he thought. Maybe it’s laughter. Merriment from a feast in full swing. A wedding, somewhere ahead or behind on this road that spliced through the nebulous dust only enough for him to see her as she was, settled in his arms. He took a step, then another, soldiering on. For the both of them now. Since she no longer had her feet on the ground, he was to be her legs. And she, what was she to them now?
“ Portez-moi à une nunnery! “
That pealing in the distance. Maybe neither bells nor merriment. Derision. His arms were leaden with her weight, even as her voice rose lightly. He ached for the lightness that had possessed her, and which asked so much of his legs now. To get somewhere, he thought, he would have to disarm. All at once, wholly and decisively, he shook with laughter.
