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Bloody Alarm Cock Creative Writing

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As I finally reached Main Square I was already out of breath, but what breath remained was snatched from my lungs by the scene that unfolded before me. A heaving mass of bodies amassed in the square. Deafening chants permeated the air mixing with the acrid scent of flares that some of the young crowd were lighting. One young man stood upon a makeshift stage with a megaphone blaring to the audience -
“...because the government thinks that they have a right to ACQUIRE people’s land, but this is not just land that they are taking, it is their livelihoods, their homes, their community. The government is meant to SERVE the people, not steal from them!” A cry erupted from the onlookers.

Encircling the crowd were rows of riot police covered …show more content…

My rooster crowed outside to announce the breaking dawn. My late husband Reginald hated that rooster and would curse him every morning. Reginald named him ‘Alarm Cock’, which he thought was quite clever. Each morning he would say, “Mabel can you turn off that bloody Alarm Cock?” This always made me chuckle. It has been seven years since I lost Reginald to a heart attack. Now I may lose this farm too. OUR farm. It is all I have left of my dear Reg. By golly I would not lose it without a fight!

My breakfast consisted of the usual piping hot scones with my homemade pomegranate jam and a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea. Then I put on my coat, wrapped my scarf snuggly around my neck, slipped on my gloves and grabbed my protest sign. I may be an old duck, but this old duck had some fight in her yet.

I fired up the old Dodge. After a few turns of the key she coughed and sputtered then RRROOOMMM - she rumbled to life. It was a two and a half hour drive to Houston where the march against the government’s ‘mandatory acquisition’ of property to build an oil pipeline was being held...but my eyesight isn’t what it used to be, so it took me over

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