A tightly packed crowd

I used to have hope that my writing was worth reading and that I'd get a following, but I've come to the conclusion that perhaps getting a following is not about the writing but about me, and now I have no hope left at all...

Shoulder to shoulder they eyed each other in their drifting and found themselves staring back at themselves and most disconcerting it was too to find yourself staring back at yourself, but with not an ounce of spare change to spare they gathered what they had and began to shuffle north towards the Eiffel Tower until someone mentioned it was west of them by about twenty eight thousand miles or so, give or take a scorpion in the dust along the way.

“How did we end up so far from civilisation?” asked one out of the corner of his mouth.

“Take your elbow out of my ear,” said another.

“OK lads, look lively now,” said Master Ying. “West it is.”

And with that they moved west by about twenty eight thousand miles. Taking mighty leaps and bounds in their shuffling they arrived at midnight as a tight packed group of refugees on the rebound and skidded to a halt where some of their homes used to be, all blown to bits now by the mad bombers.

“Damn them all to hell,” said one.

“If I ever get my hands on them,” said another.

“I left my suitcase in Bangkok,” said the burnt card of defeat.

“Silence you scurvy chickens,” said the large voice of Master Ying through his megaphone.

“But we can’t touch our toes anymore,” they moaned back at him silently.

Blue-Jane, who hadn’t said a word until now and had been watching over her shoulder the whole time to see if they were being followed spotted a suitcase standing on its toes and listening to all they were saying.

“OMG,” screamed Blue-Jane, breaking her silence.

“What?” said the crowd altogether.

“Look, a suitcase,” she said pointing at the suitcase that suddenly found itself the centre of attention and in the spotlight of all their fears.

“It’s a suspicious bomb,” said one and began climbing up his beard to escape.

“What will we all do?” asked another.

“Hang on a minute,” said the burnt card of defeat brightening up a bit. “That suitcase looks like mine.

Slowly he edged towards it, the bungee rope attached to his waist becoming ever tighter until he was leaning over the suitcase to examine it.

“It looks like mine,” he said, “that is, I think it’s mine.”

“Careful,” said Master Ying, “it may be booby trapped.”

Everyone held their breaths to see if it would explode or not. Someone sneezed and was shushed.

As the man reached out his hand to the suitcase that was crouching back on its heels to get as far away from the crazy staring misfits that had suddenly turned on it a voice came over the wireless: “CQ calling, CQ calling.”

The man withdrew his hand quickly as if burnt and as he did so the bungee cord twanged him back into the tightly packed crowd.

“CQ, is that you?” said Master Ying into his hand where the microphone was hidden.

“Of course it’s me, who else would it be?” said the voice of CQ accompanied by the sound of the waves lapping up and down in the ocean.

“Thank God,” said Master Ying releasing his pent up breath in a whoosh.

He was quickly followed by the others all letting their breaths out so that a huge wind came and blew the suitcase over onto its back where it struggled mightily to get back on its feet.

“What’s up?” said Master Ying to his hand. CQ was just about to answer when from out of the crowd the hero dashed fast as fast could be and grabbing the suitcase and threw it over his shoulder into the river where it made a big splash and then swam away and was never seen again.

The crowd took a deep breath as one and then let it out, and again a big wind happened and blew a bird right out of its tree to land on its feet where it hopped around a bit looking pleased as punch at its acrobatic landing and then it flew back up into its tree and glared down on the crowd as if to dare them to do it again.

“Where are you?” said CQ from her wireless far out in the ocean.

“We’ve arrived in Paris,” said Master Ying trying to focus with all the things going on and that were taking his attention.
“Good luck with that,” said CQ, “over and out.”

“Right,” said Master Ying and put his hand in his pocket to hear himself think.

The crowd looked to him for their marching orders and without anything better to do he said: “Carry on lads; to England and may the best man win.”

“Hurray,” they cheered and marched north and west.

(I think I shall call this the end of part one)

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