It was the 4th in the city. I spent the day
trying to decide if that was a good thing. At around 8 the drunken rush began.
People pushed their way down streets and snuck around police barricades in
attempts to grab the best vantage point. When we couldn’t go any further we
found ourselves confined between two tenement buildings. Bordered on all sides
by doughy flesh and American flags that were made in Spain.
The city stifled the stars and I wished that I could snap my
fingers and be taken to some sort of distant foothill in a distant countryside
pushed in between two mountains, purple and majestic.
A loud boom forced me to focus and as I looked up I could
make out the corner of a bright explosion. It was red and white and it lingered
for a moment before dissolving into the hazy black air.
Then came more explosions. Loud booms. Bright reds and
blues. Smoke. War sounds. And I forgot what we were celebrating. And all I
could think about was that this is what destruction sounds like.
And on that morning in September these were the sounds that
replaced the honks of taxis and caused men in suits to look up and stare with
open mouths.
But no one around me was scared.
Their faces lit
up. They smiled. But I couldn’t. All I could think about was that if they came
back none of us would be able to outrun the fire. We were corralled hogs. There
would be nothing but screeches, whistles and screams as the still and blank night
sky was painted with bright red explosions.
Your last sentence of the first paragraph, "Bordered on all sides by doughy flesh and American flags that were made in Spain" was a subtle and clever way to bring attention to where our flags are often made. By implementing humor into your post - especially in the way you did it - I was intrigued to read the rest of what you had to say. This is a really good blog post that is laced with details that place the reader into that environment, without overbearing one with pointless and forced information.
ReplyDeleteAnyone that has spent their 4th of July evening in a crowd can easily relate to the drunkenness and the uneasy feeling that comes with not feeling entirely safe, while watching a few colors explode into the sky. I'm not one that is bothered by large crowds, but the times that I've felt uncomfortable with them have been on nights like the one you described.
One of the aspects that I like most about your post (solely an opinion because I like this style of writing) is where you have what I call the "lightning bolt" sentences, in which you say one or two words, put a period, and move on. Example being in the fourth paragraph, where you say, "Loud booms. Bright reds and blues. Smoke. War sounds..." This style of writing is enjoyable to read because of how it naturally makes a story seem more intense, thus seeming more interesting.
With your photo, it obviously fits perfect to what you wrote about. The city skyline and the firework exploding are a good visual to tie in with the details you gave throughout your post.
The subject of the morning in September came abruptly, though. That may have been your intention, but while reading, it snuck in too quickly. If you were to do this post again, you could cushion it a bit by giving a bit more of a segway, before diving into that subject.
Great post, all together. Lots of imagery and your writing style is fun to read.