My response to Prompt #1694 – Ghetto Uprising

I found this idea at: http://www.thewritingreader.com/blog/

Fiction Writing Prompt: Write a story or scene about doomed freedom fighters.

Included was this photograph.

 

Here is my just plain fun response to the prompt. It's a scene from the yet to be finished story:

Ghetto Uprising

Gnarnell looked down with one of her two stalk-eyes. The rough wooden box she focused on sat in the corner of the small room she and her fellow freedom fighters occupied. The two other stalk-eyes and her pair of inset-eyes remained focused on the evidence of her predicament. It was a mental challenge to focus a single ocular organ on something while her other four eyes were otherwise focused.

She grunted.

“Yes, Leader!” The closet of the twenty freedom fighters to her provided the required response to any and all directives from an officer. That was the expectation, even if the soldier wasn’t sure of the directive.

How foolish is our protocol? Gnarnell thought. This youth is willing to do something without even knowing what it is. I must devise a task.

“I require,” she said before pausing. I have the answer! “I require the box of ammunition and weaponry from that corner.” She pointed a prehensile finger toward the box.

“By your command!” The young male made his way through the crowd that filled the room. Gnarnell watched him with all three stalk-eyes. He’s so dedicated. I wish he lived at a better time. But, it isn’t even a good time.

The room was too small for all of them. It was also too poorly located to act as a shelter for any who championed their cause. In fact, it was too poorly built to provide adequate protection for anyone, regardless of the cause they championed.

The youth returned with the box held tightly against his scaly body. She noted that his fingers had yet to mature into the almost sentient digits she had. He sat the box close to where her tail circled her legs and clawed feet. She flashed the sign for a job well done. He beamed.

She gave a nod of dismissal. He nodded in respectful reply worked his way through the crowd, recounting the end of his successful mission to each companion as he passed.

Using her well-muscled tail, Gnarnell slid the box the youth delivered against the wall behind her. Turning her body, she shielded her movements, and the contents of the box, from prying eyes. It’s best that I know what we have before anyone else. I have neither time nor space for panic or celebration.

The lid lifted with minimal resistance. She leaned it up against the front of the wooden container. Inside she found much less than she’d hoped for. Her spirit plummeted.

I was told that this room had a supply of weapons. I assumed that at least some would be plasma or, at least laser pistols. This, this collection of antiques does not qualify as a supply of anything but disappointment. I fear we are doomed.

In the box were ten items. She recognized them all, from the history books she’d read in school years ago. She took inventory.

One grenade. Three canisters of noxious gas. One canister each of flammable liquid and explosive fluid. One detonator for a bomb. Two sacks of projectile ammunition. One bottle of what I assume is poisoned wine. This must be a twisted joke being played by fate herself.

“I need a volunteer,” she said with even less inflection than was usual for her species.

All heads turned in her direction. Twenty-seven quintets of her species' eyes found their point of focus on her. Twenty-seven first fingers on the twenty-seven hands of the twenty-seven arms of revenge of the twenty-seven freedom fighters she led pointed at her.

It is what I suspected would be the case. They’ve all volunteered. How many do I send on this suicide mission?