Saturday, October 23, 2010

Vodka fuelled post #3

Continued from...

The Stormtrooper zaps me with a cattled prod and I black out...

My head bumps against something cold and hard, jolting me to my senses. I open my eyes and I realize I can't see anything, my eyes are blindfolded it seems. The engine noise tells me I'm in a diesel truck of some sort, the suspension quality confirms it.

I can smell people next to me, the stench of sweat, grime and excreta is too obvious. However, no one is talking. Then, we stop and guttural voices in a strange tongue mutter something that can only be an order. A hard rifle butt to the sternum clears any doubts that I might have had.

We're bundled off the truck, hitting the ground like a sack of potatoes. Another butt tells us we're supposed to be on our feet. Then, our blindfolds are taken off and the midday sun hits like a freight train. As the eyes slowly begin to take in the scene, the smell begins to register its presence. It's no foul stench, but it ain't sweet either. It's the smell of decay mixed with sweat.

We're at what seems like an open cast mine. And indeed it is one, but it isn't one where one you see earthmovers the size of houses and dumpers of Biblical proportions. It's just full of people as far as the eye can see.

"What the fuck is this", I ask the guard who seems like an Androidesque version of an SS Oberleutenant? Another rifle butt and a barked reply - "You wanted progress? Here, have it!"

"But progress is a verb, an adjective I cry". He laughs and says "Progress, my friend.... is Unobtanium."

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

You should provide links to the other two...

//progress is...Unobtanium