(no subject)
Dawn breaks with cold and fell purpose, illuminating the normally vibrant and full-of-life valley with a diminished and unpromising warmth. The migrants had returned to their make-shift hovels, filled with confusion and dread for what they had seen of their beloved Saviour, their leader, was that he was of an uncompramising evil.
The Carnival was barely awake, silently milling about. Samson wandered throghout the rows of corn were Ben had fled, his face marred by grimace of despair. Gabriel, Ruthie and Stumpy Dreifuss accompanied him, keeping their eyes peeled. They passed an empty cross, where a scarecrow had once hung. They all paused, staring with open-mouthed dread as they saw Ben's body, smeared and soaked with blue, fallen upon the bare-chested and blue-soaked body of Brother Justin. Neither was moving.
Samson moved towards the down-turned youth, producing his hip-flask for the age-old test of life: It's semi-reflective metallic surface fogged under Ben's breath, coming silently from his nose.
"He's alive!" Suprise.
Ben's form was lifted, carried from where he had fallen and taken unconscious back to the Carnival's grounds as a large, old house watched the proceedings from its perch upon the hill.
Stumpy sat with his wife and distraught daughter- who's new husband, Jonesy, had not returned. "Well, we gotta go." Libby broke out into fresh tears and rose. "Not without him!" Her mother rose to comfort her. "Honey..."
Stumpy joined them. "Y'see, all those people.... There's thousands of 'em. They all follow the Preacher. My god, when they find out what Ben Hawkins' done..."
"We can't stay." Agreed his wife, solemnly. "Y'know what I bet?" Spoke up Stumpy. "My god, you know what I bet? I bet old Jonesy already headed out, he's already waitin' for us, up on down the road." Bittersweep lies to comfort.
"Y'think?" Asked Libby, having nothing else to believe. "Well, hell yeah. Hell, he's a resourceful fella, that Jonesy. Smells trouble a mile away." Both Stumpy and his wife grinned, knowing they had to to convince their grief-stricken daughter. "C'mon, kiddo." They bundled themselves into the nearby car.
Samson sat in his truck, that held Management's old trailer. He leaned out the window, hoping for good news. His drive returned and hopped in. "Any luck?" Silence. "Just... Drive." The worker made a sound of protest. "I said drive."
The Carnival moved on, and within Management's old trailer, upon his old bed where the ancient Russian had spent the last of his many years, lay unconscious Ben Hawkins.
The Carnival was barely awake, silently milling about. Samson wandered throghout the rows of corn were Ben had fled, his face marred by grimace of despair. Gabriel, Ruthie and Stumpy Dreifuss accompanied him, keeping their eyes peeled. They passed an empty cross, where a scarecrow had once hung. They all paused, staring with open-mouthed dread as they saw Ben's body, smeared and soaked with blue, fallen upon the bare-chested and blue-soaked body of Brother Justin. Neither was moving.
Samson moved towards the down-turned youth, producing his hip-flask for the age-old test of life: It's semi-reflective metallic surface fogged under Ben's breath, coming silently from his nose.
"He's alive!" Suprise.
Ben's form was lifted, carried from where he had fallen and taken unconscious back to the Carnival's grounds as a large, old house watched the proceedings from its perch upon the hill.
Stumpy sat with his wife and distraught daughter- who's new husband, Jonesy, had not returned. "Well, we gotta go." Libby broke out into fresh tears and rose. "Not without him!" Her mother rose to comfort her. "Honey..."
Stumpy joined them. "Y'see, all those people.... There's thousands of 'em. They all follow the Preacher. My god, when they find out what Ben Hawkins' done..."
"We can't stay." Agreed his wife, solemnly. "Y'know what I bet?" Spoke up Stumpy. "My god, you know what I bet? I bet old Jonesy already headed out, he's already waitin' for us, up on down the road." Bittersweep lies to comfort.
"Y'think?" Asked Libby, having nothing else to believe. "Well, hell yeah. Hell, he's a resourceful fella, that Jonesy. Smells trouble a mile away." Both Stumpy and his wife grinned, knowing they had to to convince their grief-stricken daughter. "C'mon, kiddo." They bundled themselves into the nearby car.
Samson sat in his truck, that held Management's old trailer. He leaned out the window, hoping for good news. His drive returned and hopped in. "Any luck?" Silence. "Just... Drive." The worker made a sound of protest. "I said drive."
The Carnival moved on, and within Management's old trailer, upon his old bed where the ancient Russian had spent the last of his many years, lay unconscious Ben Hawkins.