The Parables

Tomas - Precinct Sixteen

Tomas - Precinct Sixteen

He's running down a dirt track. Tall bushes march alongside him as he sprints away...away from what? In the distance, he can hear faint screams and the roars of creatures...monsters. The beasts. He's tiring now, but he won't stop. He has to get away. The dirt track seems to go on forever. He sees no turning ahead. Was this another trick by them? By who? He risks sneaking a peek behind him and thankfully sees nothing. His pace slows, but when he turns back to looking forward, his face slams into a stone wall. He winces and massages his temples before standing back and regarding the stone wall with a peculiar expression. How did that get there? Suddenly, he hears someone calling his name.

"Tomas." They shout...who's shouting his name?

"Tomas." They shout again. "Tomas. Tomas. Tomas." They're chanting his name now. But who are they? Where are they? He looks around wildly, trying to find his callers. His eyes land upon a figure running towards him. The figure's mouth is opening and closing as if it were shouting.

"Tomas," the figure shouts. "Tomas! Look out!"

I jolt. Turning my head, I watch an arrow whiz past and hit the tree behind me. Eyes widening, I look back and see a figure striding towards me. His shoulders are squared out and he strides with a purposeful march. His polished boots shine in the light of the sun and he wears a beret, perfectly in position on his head. His arms swing beside him as he marches towards me. I silently groan. I've done it again. I know it. I just know it. The figure stops just in front of me, with a face like thunder.

"Private Lowry," he roars. "Were you, or were you not, daydreaming in another one of my lessons?"

"Yes, Sergeant Boyne ," I reply meekly. "I didn't mean to, Sir. I didn't even realise I was doing it at first, Sir."

"You almost got hit by an arrow, boy. You could have had yourself severely injured."

"I know, Sir. It was very foolish of me, Sir. It won't happen again, Sir."

"It better not, Lowry," Sergeant Boyne growls. "If it does, you're excluded. Do you understand me, Private?"

"Yes, Sir." I salute to him. "Loud and clear, Sir."

"Good." Sergeant Boyne nods his head at me, then marches off, roaring, "Back to your trenches! QUICKLY!" I sigh and pick up my sword from where it had fallen onto the ground. Sergeant Boyne is always moaning at me about something. Particularly daydreaming.

I trudge back to my trench, hacking away at the ground with my sword as I move. Mud grips to my shoes, impeding my movements so they become slow steps. The heavy rain last night has turned the grounds into an area of thick mud and sludge, concealing the potholes in the ground that had been so easy to avoid. Now, it was just moments before somebody tripped on one and landed face-first in the mud. I'd already gotten my foot caught in several potholes but somehow failed to fall over.

Ducking under a barbed wire fence, I jump down into the trench and step onto the nearest firing step. With one hand gripping my sword and the other holding onto a sandbag above me, I wait for the klaxon to sound. Other soldiers line up alongside me, most with bows and arrows.

"Boyne on your case again?"

I turn my head to see my friend, Catnip, smiling at me. She's stood on the firing step next to me, her chocolate-brown hair slicked back into a ponytail that dangles down her back. Her green eyes shine mischievously. In her hand, she clutches a sword, the tip of it glinting in the glaring light of the sun. Hers is as clean as a whistle, whereas mine is caked in mud and dirt.