Here it is, the new short story that I will use on my unsuspecting high school victims. We will see if this one inspires stories about non-serial killer related topics. I will give some thoughts at the end, but, for now, here we go.
Vermintide France, 1807 Shafts of pale morning light tumbled through the forest canopy and careened into the carriage as it clattered along the dirt road. Every rock in France seemed to jump in the way of the wheels, throwing the wagon about like a schooner on rough seas. But Napoleon didn’t mind. Plush seats in a bumping coach were still preferable to days riding horseback. He shoved a grape in his mouth, ripping into the tender flesh with his front teeth, as Chief of Staff Demoux continued to blather on. “...are harassing the western borders. We are sending a fresh contingent of troops and supplies there tomorrow.” Demoux flipped through his ledgers, gripping them tightly as the carriage lurched again. “Emperor, the riots are getting worse in the Capitol. The people complain that we aren’t doing enough to quell the rabble rousers.” “Cela n'a pas d'importance.” Napoleon waved his hand as if brushing the report away. “Someone always worries. Let them. We are taking action; that is enough.” He tossed another grape into his mouth and squished it with his front teeth so Demoux could see. The man winced and quickly shut his ledger. “Of course, Sire.” Napoleon glanced out the window. “Are we almost there? My feet grow restless.” Lieutenant Lutre spoke up. “Nearly there, Commander. Your legs will soon see some sport.” “Good. I haven’t killed anything in days.” Both men winced as he bit into another grape, lips open. The juices ran down his chin. Luckily, for Lutre and Demoux, the carriage rolled to a stop only a few grapes later. “Finally,” Napoleon said, standing up. Without waiting for his men, he opened the door and stepped out before the coach stopped bouncing. The forest had given way to a meadow of low scrubgrass and patches of dirt. Horses snorted and shuffled as his mounted guards saluted from behind the coach. He ignored them as he stomped, testing the compactness of the dirt. A deep breath brought clean air to his lungs, free from the soot of the city. A man appeared at his side. Chief Officer Berthier saluted, fingers touching his brow, hand flat, palm facing out. “Emperor, welcome. I trust the ride wasn’t too long?” “Could you not have found something closer, Alexandre?” “Sorry, Your Excellency, this was the most defensible spot I could find.” Napoleon grimaced. The ground looked more lumpy than King George’s backside and nearly as white. He could twist an ankle running someone down in this meadow, and the blood would turn the dirt straight to muck. These were his good boots! It was turning into a terrible day. Seeing his displeasure, Berthier hurried to make amends. “If the emperor doesn’t like this particular spot, I would be happy to reset for another day--” “No! No.” Napoleon had not endured Demoux’s blathering and a jarring carriage ride for nothing. “Are they ready?” “Oui. I spaced them in two cages, one on either side of the meadow, just out of sight. Once let loose, they’ll run right into your line of sight. They’ll never know what hit them.” Maybe the day wouldn’t be a total loss. “How many are there?” Berthier smiled. “Now, this should please your excellency. I had to clear out every farm and hovel in the area, but I found enough of the little devils to fill two cages.” Now Napoleon smiled, too. Two cages full! Why, he would run out of musket balls and be forced to start using his sabre. What sport! “Excellent job, Berthier. Are we ready to release?” “At your command.” Demoux and Lutre had exited the carriage and were lugging a stock of six rifles to a makeshift rack behind him. They lined the rifles on the rack and set out a bucket of musket balls, plugs, and black powder horns. They would reload the guns as fast as Napoleon could fire them. Indeed, he had been wrong. This was turning into quite the celebration. “We, too, are ready, Emperor,” Lutre said. “Bien joué! Berthier, make ready to release.” Chief Officer Berthier nodded and waved to a soldier waiting at the edge of the trees. Both of them disappeared into the forest. Lutre handed Napoleon a loaded musket. He turned toward the meadow and held the rifle tucked up by his shoulder. The moment his prey burst out of the undergrowth, he would bring the rifle up and fire. He waited, finger against the cold steel of the trigger, the wood grip digging into his palm. The anticipation wasn’t as intense as before a true battle, but Napoleon always felt a bit giddy with a rifle in his hands. A rifle was death incarnate, fire and power and fear forged into metal and wood. A twitch of the finger, and a life ended. A shift of the trigger, and all hell broke loose. He lived for that moment, that heartbeat of searing glory. Quelle joie! A sudden gust of wind ripped through the pines, setting the branches into motion. Napoleon had his gun up searching wildly for targets before he realized his mistake. He lowered the rifle and growled. “What is taking them so long?” Demoux cleared his throat. “I’m sure--” The crack of a pistol ricocheted through the trees, cutting the chief of staff off. “Finally,” Napoleon said, raising his rifle again. He waited, pulse racing, but the moment stretched, silence returning to the meadow. No one moved. The foliage lay as still as a painting, not even a breeze to rustle the leaves anymore. Surely his men had opened the cages by now; any moment the grass would part and he would have blood. Yet, still he waited. The musket grew heavy in his hands, but he did not lower it again. His muscles ached, but still he held position. In war, the man who broke was the first to die. He licked his lips and tasted the sticky sweet juice of the grapes on his skin. A sound rose out of the frozen forest like a thundercloud boiling over a mountain. Bushes rustled so loud Napoleon thought the wind must have returned, but the trees did not sway. The shrubbery at the edge of the clearing began to shake, and, behind the rattling of the branches, a pattering grew like a great downpour from the heavens was rushing at them. Napoleon let the end of his rifle drop slightly in shock. The bushes seemed to dissolve as a tidal wave of white and gray boiled into the clearing. Their bodies flowed over the grass, converging from both sides of the clearing like the clash of two great rivers. Rabbits! He had never seen so many rabbits. They filled the meadow in a seething mass that turned its head and flowed straight for him. “Sacré bleu!” His finger reflexively pulled the trigger. A click and a flash ignited the black powder in an explosion that filled the air with acrid smoke. He barely registered the deafening boom, but he did see the musket ball impact the ground far behind the charging rabbits. The vermin didn’t even slow at the shot. They just barreled toward him like a tidal wave. A vermin tide! Their fury demon bodies were almost on him, so he grabbed the barrel of the gun and swung at the little devils. The swing went wide in his frenzy, putting him off balance. They were on him now, jumping at his legs, clawing their way up his chest. He stumbled and fell onto his back in a puff of white dust. Rabbits washed over him, ignoring his thrashing arms. Each time he plucked one from his face, another filled its place. They knew his fear. Little tongues licked relentlessly at the dried grape on his chin. He felt teeth sink into his flesh. Napoleon screamed. End I learn a lot from my students. They help me think outside of the box. A few years ago, a student found out about Napoleon and the rabbit attach while deciding on a topic for his historical fiction. Then, like a spider weaving a web, fate reached out and provided me the same story on a folklore podcast. I haven’t been able to forget about this strange bit of history since. When I first thought about changing the example story for the unit away from serial killers, I could not get my mind to let go of this curious tale. I knew it had the potential to be funny, concise, and maybe a little strange. From the get go, I knew I had to put a horror twist on the attack of the bunnies. It was fun to write, and, I hope, fun to read. I will let you all know the results of my little experiment after I teach 11A again. Next year. Sorry. Thanks for reading Title of Liberty! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
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AuthorI see how words surround us every day. Life is a construct and words the vehicles of understanding. Archives
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