if only i had my camera

i am a man, somewhat braveheart-esque. my wife sleeps (or is perhaps unconscious) and there is a battle raging in the village. standing on a raised bed in a long and wide room, i must fight the attackers with remnant arrows littering the ground. quite concentrated, repeatedly and vehemently - in their chests, the hollow of their collarbones, their heads. very satisfying melon-like thunks.

the contest is won in the room, but the fight goes on outside. with my allies i gather more arrows and place them in my anacronistic nylon bag - not unlike a drummer's stick bag. then, almost as an afterthought and out of nowhere, i gather tapered candlesticks (thinking, "i hope those don't break") and, naturally enough, drumsticks. (no, not chicken/turkey/poultry drumsticks.)

we race outside into the night towards the village daycare, where we must stash our small belongings, most especially our cellphones. those with young ones say goodbye; a woman rubs the heads of her two enormous cartoonish bullfrog children resting in a commercial stainless steel sink.

after this, the images begin to fade. i remember gorgeous colours - clear blue skies and a rusty orange bridge spanning overhead, tall townhomes or some other such building against that beautifully bright washed-out fading light of the sun with the sky, again, a deep azure.

and i remember thinking, "if only i had my camera."

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