| by comrade commissar | Thomas | @ Saturday, August 06, 2005, 8:54:00 PM | permalink |
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You should try seeing it through their eyes. Huddling together for warmth they are somewhere between sleep and consciousness, always poised at any moment to fight or flight. At the same time the sound of the steps reached the twitched ears of their leader, the pungent aroma of food waffs over all their noses. Suddenly all the half-closed eyes are wide and intent tracking the source of this. A single human being. Thin, lanky, weak looking. He is hauling 2 bags of something unknown. The thick scent emitted from these promises at least a day's worth of nourishment. The leader acts. He gets up, unsteady on his paws for a moment. He shakes abit to chase away his drowsiness, then barks to chase away his pack's. He darts forward a bit, turn to be sure that the rest are following. The pack then pounces out as one, breaking out into a ferocious hunger-driven charge. My heart thudded loudly in my chest when I saw them appear from the shadows. Dragging 2 trash bags of stinking rubbish to the secluded rubbish collection point in the middle of the night, I felt like there was a big label on me: "DOG FOOD" I tried to keep quiet by moving slowly, eyes peered for any movement or noise. And then they came. Within seconds, I was semi-surrounded by half a dozen menacing looking dogs. The tumult was deafening, all these canine barking incessantly at me, looking like they would unleash their fangs and claws any time ... but they don't. They hesitate. You can sense it, they are waiting for their leader, for each other to make the first move. They are ravenous yes, but they are also afraid. That why they are barking so furiously now, hoping for an easy win. The worst thing I could do now would be to run. I bellowed out loud at the creatures. The empty camp echoed my yell into the dark. I throw down the bags of trash, leaving in my right hand only the thick wooden branch I picked up beforehand. (You don't seriously think I would venture into such a risky situation unprepared, do you?) My abrupt movement caught the leader off guard, it had prepared to test the vulnerablity of its victim. It steps back a little, uncertain whether to reassert itself. I struck one of the trash bags hard. Frightful terrifying noise! The man has turned into a beast! The leader turns on its tail and bolts for safety, the rest scampering off in various directions. I took a deep breath after they left, threw the rubbish, then head back to my bunk. While I was walking along the corridor, the loudhailers blared out a prerecorded bugle tune signifying "lights out" or the end of a day. It seems other things have taken this sound to be of different meaning. All over the camp the dogs howl/bark/yelp/cry, almost as if they are trying to be in tune. Its really amusing to observe this daily phenomenon, makes you wonder and guess their reasons for doing so. Instinctive rehearsal for that final pandemonium of trumpets, fury and brimstone maybe. And then the music and howling stops. I stand alone at the 2nd floor of Block 222, lord over the vast silent emptiness of the 46th SAR parade square. I may be serving confinement for 1 day, but tonight I rule this place. |
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