The pulp, goes down my back, under the front of my shirt, sometimes it gets inside inside my shoes.
Today we stood as one, it was the first time, it felt unnatural, then after a while when the sting in the limbs dissipated, it wasn't too bad. Sometimes I feel like I've been running, or lifting something heavy. There's been rumblings, that the town not too far away is preparing. The town up north, the one that does things differently to us. I hear they walk as one, that they even learned how to run. Surely they can't run already. I heard rumours, drunken ones, that they can lift as one as well. Pablo and his family make up the head. That's what they said, the kids in the village between us and the town up north east.
I even heard from Tom, the town drunk, that they could even talk as one, just words, not sentences, not yet anyway. I don't believe him though, Standing as one is one thing, but talking, talking is impossible. Tomorrow we stand as one. I'm not sure, that I'm looking forward to tomorrow. There's just so many minds, so many opinions, pulling away from each other. So many doubts. How could you possibly move as one. We train to turn our head, as one, first we do it in a line, simply just turning our own heads. Then we lift them up and down in unison. After a few more turns we lift our feet, one on the left, then the right, then we raise our arms.
The Colonel wears shades from a movie I saw once, a movie we saw in the village, one we weren't supposed to see. He walks in quick bursts, then moves slowly again. The energy he gives off is uncertain, as if one minute he's your friend, then the next moment he could look like he wanted to attack you. Tomorrow we stand as one he said, we will look around, as one, then walk toward the town up North for approximately ten minutes, then we will look around again, as one, then turn around and walk home. Jill is here today, I didn't see her yesterday, but I'm certain she's here. Not even Jill could get out of that one. Eventually I see the back of Jill's auburn head. She looks unsure, as to what she's doing, or why she's even here, but so do we all, especially me, I just hide it better. I try move closer to her, while the colonel walks the lines. She eventually sees me when her head turns in my direction. She smiles, they can walk she said, and talk. Everything you heard is true.
What do you mean I said, in as low a voice as possible. The village, they move, walk, run, even talk as one. That's impossible I said, we can barely stand, as one I mean. She laughs, they can even blink, we're wasting out time doing this. Its already too late she said. The Colonel looks in our direction, at least I think he does, I can't tell with the sunglasses. We stand togther at 1pm sharp he says, as one, that'll be all.
We're moving faster than I thought, the pulp goes down my back, it gets in my eyes, between my fingers. it slurps when we turn or stop abruptly. Sometimes it gets inside my mouth. Sometimes in my ears, so I can't hear what the next instruction is, sometimes the pulp naturally tells me what not to do. Sometimes I'm at one with the pulp, if there is such a thing, but I rarely notice, it just kind of happens, like when we turn together, or when we get angry in unison. When we laugh or we're happy, she laughs, so do I. We do it in unison, but not in the group, not when we stand as one, when the pulp gets in the way, sometimes the pulp can cloud your judgement, but you'd never tell anyone that. Sometimes the body gets damp, when we concentrate, when we're in tune. But when we're angry its dry again. And the walls dry and chaff, and we get sore, until we think as one again. The walls stinks vinagre and wine when we work in unison.
We hydrate ourselves by touching our lips against the walls, the bread is outside we're told, but you can only taste it, when we taste as one. When the ideas flow together, like blood coursing, through the lines of the foul smelling rubber. Alejandra almost suffocated yesterday, I heard rumours that they didn't revive her at all. That her space in the suit had no air, no space to move. But we couldn't tell, because the foot is always the first out. Sometimes when this happens, when someone doesn't make it, they mourn for a few days, sometimes weeks, sometimes a year passes and suddenly this person never existed, and if you bring it up its possible that you don't either. But that's what being part of the mound is about, but you'd never call it that. In public we call it father One. But to myself I call it the thing. I told Jill once, she laughed, then quickly held it back, becoming serious again. That was the last time I ever spoke about the thing in public. Unless questioned in a community capacity, of course. We haven't seen Alejandra since.
The night we slept together, she called it the mound. And I laughed, and I thought of a mound or a pile of shit, but that would make us shit wouldn't it? She laughed, then stopped abruptly. What if they're right she said. What if they're right and we're not. Who? I asked. The village in the north she said. I didn't reply. Maybe they move together because they all agree together, for the most part anyway, maybe greed pulls us away, maybe wanting more for ourselves makes us weaker.
I laughed, she asked me what I thought, i didn't reply. We stand together in the morning, then we walk as one. She rests her head on my shoulder, we fall asleep together, as one, the mound will wait until tomorrow.
The colonel sweats profusely as we stand to attention in perfectly kept rows. he walks each row, spitting as he shouts. Today we stand together. As one. Today, we stand together, tomorrow we walk as one, and this time next month we fight, as one. What does he mean fight? I think to myself. Surely he doesn't mean fight as one, in the mound. As we train we begin to form the mound, the more well to do, the higher up in the mound. The feet move freely but I can hear the screams, our speed coming at a cost, the pulp becoming wet, then dry again. The air circulates then heats up. The screams becoming duller, turning to a hum of suffering. A splintering sound I've never encountered before, we are doing things incredibly quick, we run, jump, touch the top of mountain ledges and look over the great falls. The beauty is stunning, but most of us can't see it, and the birds that chirp in the distance are drowned out by that awful humming I've never encountered before.
I know the colonel is sweating profusely, even though I can't see him, somewhere in the mound. but we're moving too fast. He tells us to go towards the village. To walk there and back again, the chambers reverberate with the sound of his voice, echoing his orders. Tomorrow he said, we go to the village up north. The village that works together, the one that does it out of community, not because it has too, the one that isn't a slave to buying ideas. The one that is fluid, moving together like water.
