fff#85

my flash fiction friday #85; trigger: write [of/in/from] an alternate reality.

if i had a time machine i would go back+off bob. before he ever had chance to write that blasted lyric. i mean, this mightna be mister marley intention but he inspire a outcome worse than damage hitler or al-bashir or even chortle the bandit wreak on we the people.
waiting is a cage too small to stand all the way up or sit all the way down in. hardest part of being the resistance; that, and knowing you could just go the easy way any given night. waiting whole day every day for dark to come for we to tune out and tune into each other, waiting whole week for friday fete for we to secretly gather, waiting whole lives, plotting, dying for the chance for we to feel something, anything, real.
friday fete, when the afterwork switch flip and people getting herded to the dancehall, we make we usual flip, retune headphones to we frequency and find weself in we safe. the good thing about friday fetes was the full-weekend freedom we could thief for weself to be weself, inasmuchas any of we could know who weself was, and plan. that time i was 1st to reach so i unlock and switch on we frequency-blocker and settle and get properly comfortable in the furthest corner 1time. i was impatient with we progress and didn’t want to leave that sunday night without a plan to execute the very following friday fete and be done with the madness, finally, before i went mad meself. lately i could feel meself losing tether on reality, getting sucked into the mandatory music, starting to feel like feeling nothing wasn’t so bad and maybe i should stop foolishly resisting…
the others fall in and once the last was safe inside and safe lock i start the session, only to find out tyrone forget the protest music he was to bring for we to make we selections for the revolution. when he collect the cuteye i hit he, he say, on the 1st bathroom break when foodservices shift done and they joining the fete, he go use them movements to pelt home and run back with it so we weekend doh waste. didn’t seem a massive risk.
we make use of we time that 1st 3hours while waiting for timing when them in dancehall could choose to visit the rest-room for up to halfhour and foodservices staff now getting herded to the fete. but that friday what we shoulda be planning was a rescue, not revolution. all the work we do went straight out the door when we hear tyrone key turn and look up to then see he suddenly silhouetted by searchlight. the promoters somehow tune into he on he journey, pick up he different frequency and follow he straight to we, now, suddenly un-safe.
tyrone freeze in the doorway and that was all the promoters need. them force-switch he frequency and fill he ears+head with the friday fete dj and we see right in front of we, all the tension leave he body. tyrone boil down like bhagi. we watch them easy easy drag we boy back to institutionalised party. and all we coulda do was slam+lock we door while them focus on pulling he.
i cyah know if this go find you but i hope it get through so allyuh go know now it on you. we cyah know how long before they reach back here ready to mash up we dance and take the rest of we by force.
until the resistance buss them promoters’ throat and release alla-we, at least we know, when them music hit we go feel no pain, including the pain of not feeling anything again.

walk good.