QuinnArcher
03-29-2008, 11:49 AM
The Führer’s Visit by Quinn Archer
A streamer of gold and burgundy flags fluttered and danced above the crowded main street. A brazen blast of brass horns sounded the commencement of the parade. Steam hung in the air like a gossamer veil. A man wiped the sweat from his brow and adjusted the heavy case which hung uncomfortably off his shoulder. He passed a group of school girls, wearing shiny new blue gowns distributed for the purpose of the Führer’s visit; they smiled and squinted in the hot sun.
The shops of the main street were made proper; their windows reflective and shiny and the sidewalks out front swept clean. The man caught his reflection and adjusted his hat. He pushed through the crowd passing proud shop keeps standing broom in hand.
He passed a bakery where the smell of fresh cakes caused him to salivate. A boy of despicable appearance ran out with a loaf beneath his arm. The hollers of the baker could be heard through the door, “Stop! Thief.” A man in a large overcoat stepped in front of the boy and placed a hand firmly on his shoulder. The boy dropped the loaf, and stared prostrate at the towering figure. The boy was lead away to an alley away from the main street. The overcoat was an obvious sign of an officer of the secret police. The man continued to walk on.
The first phase of the parade had arrived; a troop of soldiers marching in glorious burgundy uniforms of the famous 23rd artillery unit. The bass drum in the back beat up a frenzy and then stopped. The soldiers halted with military precision. They gave the arching salute of the Führer, splendidly twirled their rifles and on the command of “fire”, deafeningly unloaded to the sky. They resumed their march with the steady tattoo of the bass.
The man watched the spectacle and resumed his walk. He bounced the strap to a more comfortable position on his shoulder. A refined elderly woman gave him a disgusted scowl looking up and down at his greasy and tattered clothing. The loose soles of his boots scrapped painfully against the cleansed sidewalk.
He turned, and climbed a staircase leading to the roof of a building draped with an embroidered tapestry depicting the Führer, its steely eyes gazing down upon the spectators below. The man took the case off his shoulders and placed it on the floor. He undid the latches and opened it. He could see burgundy figures on the roofs of other building armed with rifles.
The float of the Führer rounded a bend; elaborate and gold incrusted. The Führer, large and dressed in a burgundy uniform adorned with medals, stood earnestly with his arms folded behind his back. A group of soldiers on either side of the float saluted him with a sweeping wave. The crowd followed and did the same. The Führer waved back.
A flare fired into the air and burst overhead. Signaled by this flare, colorful bills of the state currency fountained out of the windows of an office building and floated onto the main street. Soldiers lining the street strained to hold back the crowd but their onslaught was too much and they broke the lines. Like a crack in a dam a stream of people pushed through onto the parade path filling their pockets with bills. The scene turned to chaos as spectators clashed with military. Shots rang.
The man on the roof removed a mahogany finished rifle with a large scope from the case and loaded a slug into it. He slid back the bolt loading the bullet into the chamber. He wiped the sweat from his brow before he peered through the scope fixing the cross hairs on a golden medal hanging directly over the Führer’s hearts. He pulled the trigger. The bang of the rifle sent a nest of pigeons frantic into the azure sky.
A streamer of gold and burgundy flags fluttered and danced above the crowded main street. A brazen blast of brass horns sounded the commencement of the parade. Steam hung in the air like a gossamer veil. A man wiped the sweat from his brow and adjusted the heavy case which hung uncomfortably off his shoulder. He passed a group of school girls, wearing shiny new blue gowns distributed for the purpose of the Führer’s visit; they smiled and squinted in the hot sun.
The shops of the main street were made proper; their windows reflective and shiny and the sidewalks out front swept clean. The man caught his reflection and adjusted his hat. He pushed through the crowd passing proud shop keeps standing broom in hand.
He passed a bakery where the smell of fresh cakes caused him to salivate. A boy of despicable appearance ran out with a loaf beneath his arm. The hollers of the baker could be heard through the door, “Stop! Thief.” A man in a large overcoat stepped in front of the boy and placed a hand firmly on his shoulder. The boy dropped the loaf, and stared prostrate at the towering figure. The boy was lead away to an alley away from the main street. The overcoat was an obvious sign of an officer of the secret police. The man continued to walk on.
The first phase of the parade had arrived; a troop of soldiers marching in glorious burgundy uniforms of the famous 23rd artillery unit. The bass drum in the back beat up a frenzy and then stopped. The soldiers halted with military precision. They gave the arching salute of the Führer, splendidly twirled their rifles and on the command of “fire”, deafeningly unloaded to the sky. They resumed their march with the steady tattoo of the bass.
The man watched the spectacle and resumed his walk. He bounced the strap to a more comfortable position on his shoulder. A refined elderly woman gave him a disgusted scowl looking up and down at his greasy and tattered clothing. The loose soles of his boots scrapped painfully against the cleansed sidewalk.
He turned, and climbed a staircase leading to the roof of a building draped with an embroidered tapestry depicting the Führer, its steely eyes gazing down upon the spectators below. The man took the case off his shoulders and placed it on the floor. He undid the latches and opened it. He could see burgundy figures on the roofs of other building armed with rifles.
The float of the Führer rounded a bend; elaborate and gold incrusted. The Führer, large and dressed in a burgundy uniform adorned with medals, stood earnestly with his arms folded behind his back. A group of soldiers on either side of the float saluted him with a sweeping wave. The crowd followed and did the same. The Führer waved back.
A flare fired into the air and burst overhead. Signaled by this flare, colorful bills of the state currency fountained out of the windows of an office building and floated onto the main street. Soldiers lining the street strained to hold back the crowd but their onslaught was too much and they broke the lines. Like a crack in a dam a stream of people pushed through onto the parade path filling their pockets with bills. The scene turned to chaos as spectators clashed with military. Shots rang.
The man on the roof removed a mahogany finished rifle with a large scope from the case and loaded a slug into it. He slid back the bolt loading the bullet into the chamber. He wiped the sweat from his brow before he peered through the scope fixing the cross hairs on a golden medal hanging directly over the Führer’s hearts. He pulled the trigger. The bang of the rifle sent a nest of pigeons frantic into the azure sky.