Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task 2 - October's Revolution (R13)

WINTER REVOLUTION - 2 

It shifted the day a leader fell to an unprecedented sleep.

But that was getting ahead of things, yes, yes it was, for Reuben had started off such ventures at a kneel, hands pressed together where his thumb scraped his nose. It was an old tradition, to kneel. It was an odd tradition, to kneel. But he trusted it all the same, for despite the wild suggestions and desperations of that curly-haired corpse of exuberance, he'd married her. He'd married her, and she always told him, "When you're about to do some possibly impossible things, just head down to that little ole place with the bell and sit down at those burnt up benches. Kneel, and thank. Kneel, and think."

And so he did, despite the lack of her presence. The concrete floor's chill permeated the knees of his pants and he shivered, but still, he stayed in the remnants of that "little ole place" she'd called a church.

He knelt and thought.

We're doing this because I said we needed it. I don't think I was right to say that. Still, I hope something good will come out of this, even if it wasn't an inherently "good" decision at the start.

I'm going to keep the boy safe. Let that be good enough. Please.

Amen.

Unlike the stories that woman of weary vibrance had always told him about these places, no bells rang out to signal a time, and no gongs set off an echo telling him to leave. He simply stood from his crouch, which he only half-regretted once he felt the ache of staying put, and let himself leave.

He met the boy outside the heavy door, which was spiderwebbed with cracks. He had to shove his hands in his pockets and squeeze his body through to avoid touching the thing; he feared it would crumble away if he so much as breathed on it. "Let's get moving, Sauerkraut," he said stiffly. The nature of his nod to the street matched his tone.

Lowell had long legs, and despite Reuben's effort, he just couldn't seem to keep up, always lagging behind a few inches or a foot. He didn't ask him to slow, and so he didn't. As they carried on, Reuben went to thinking about the boy in particular, for it was the Hour of Thought that he allowed himself once a day - for one hour, he would let himself stray from rationality and hard-skulled processes. It was something he could look forward to each day at the very least.

It was true that Lowell was of blood relation to Reuben, but when he'd taken the boy in, he didn't think it'd take an intricate system of carefully shed words and gestures to first gain the trust, and then to gain the bond. He'd managed to successfully pass over that first hurdle, but for some reason, no matter how many times he attempted and succeeded to work out more than a few awkward phrases, he'd trip before he ever came to the second. Lowell was a hard boy to speak with. Reuben didn't appreciate that so much but he forced himself to anyways.

The boy's nature also meant Reuben had to initiate conversation. He sighed in exasperation before sucking it up. "So, ah, Sauerkraut. How's the idea of this whole thing treating you, hm? Are you ready, nervous, wanting to back out, anything...?"

Lowell merely shrugged in response and picked up his pace. Reuben hurried to catch up despite the obvious hint thrown his way.

He tried again. "Y'know, there's s'posed to be a real nice feast there. Miriam's got a cozy little place, warm, too. I don't think she's so bad like everyone says, really. What do you think?" When Lowell remained quiet, Reuben ducked his head. "I'm excited, at least."

They kept on without much in between, shuffling down streets and keeping their eyes down when passersby came bumbling between doors only to cross into another one where all they really had to do was slip under a sheet that acted as a wall. Reuben pointed out a little black bird that didn't do much other than hop; one wing was inflated while the other was left shrunken in comparison.