Sengoku Jidai (2005)
First published in 'a Non Sequitur' on April 7th, 2005.
It was spring in the morning. The sky was marble blue. Beneath the wind, you can overheard the repeated sound of cicadas. A bright peacefull day, except for a small billowing dust in the distant, and the fact that we -three hundreds of us- stand waiting to make a bloody stand at this river bank. They were marching. And we were waiting.
The first thing you can see, is the banners. For now we can be certain of who we were up against. You can almost heard the the thundering rumble of ashigaru columns, the clanking hoof of their cavalry. It was about over nine hundreds of them. Their conch shell reverberate. They stopped. For a moment the silence taking over. We gaze, but still we wait.
Another conch shell rang. With rumbling of footsteps they spread out, making their attack formation. The bravest and the mighties become their first spear of the first ashigaru. They were coming in, fast, heading for our bridge. The waiting part is over. Underneath a golden gourd, our commander raising a golden fan. The lieutenants yell. I knew it was time. Sixty of us of, the first of yari ashigaru, were to stand at the edge of the bridge. Never meant to budge, never to give an inch: being a latch for a-soon-to-be-overflown door.
As we begin to make the stand, sharp whistles of flying arrow coming from the back of our head. Our archers begun their volley. That was the plan: keep raining them down with fang of death from above. Some of them got hit, lots of scream, and some were down. Still they were not stopping. The enemy's archers unit were closing in. Their target were clear: sixty-of-us. The same whistling sound heading toward us. But this time ended in loud thumping noise. In such a close formation, it was difficult to evade an incoming arrow. Much were hit. Yet we must hold. We relied mostly on our good armors. We relied to our good comrade archers to give the same to them. And we grind our teeth.
Then the enemy begun to have faces. Beneath a loud warcry, the first oposite yaris clanking, then the screams of blood shreds. It has begun. Four hundred years are waiting for us. For all three hundreds of us.
It was spring in the morning. The sky was marble blue. Beneath the wind, you can overheard the repeated sound of cicadas. A bright peacefull day, except for a small billowing dust in the distant, and the fact that we -three hundreds of us- stand waiting to make a bloody stand at this river bank. They were marching. And we were waiting. The first thing you can see, is the banners. For now we can be certain of who we were up against. You can almost heard the the thundering rumble of ashigaru columns, the clanking hoof of their cavalry. It was about over nine hundreds of them. Their conch shell reverberate. They stopped. For a moment the silence taking over. We gaze, but still we wait.
Another conch shell rang. With rumbling of footsteps they spread out, making their attack formation. The bravest and the mighties become their first spear of the first ashigaru. They were coming in, fast, heading for our bridge. The waiting part is over. Underneath a golden gourd, our commander raising a golden fan. The lieutenants yell. I knew it was time. Sixty of us of, the first of yari ashigaru, were to stand at the edge of the bridge. Never meant to budge, never to give an inch: being a latch for a-soon-to-be-overflown door.
As we begin to make the stand, sharp whistles of flying arrow coming from the back of our head. Our archers begun their volley. That was the plan: keep raining them down with fang of death from above. Some of them got hit, lots of scream, and some were down. Still they were not stopping. The enemy's archers unit were closing in. Their target were clear: sixty-of-us. The same whistling sound heading toward us. But this time ended in loud thumping noise. In such a close formation, it was difficult to evade an incoming arrow. Much were hit. Yet we must hold. We relied mostly on our good armors. We relied to our good comrade archers to give the same to them. And we grind our teeth.
Then the enemy begun to have faces. Beneath a loud warcry, the first oposite yaris clanking, then the screams of blood shreds. It has begun. Four hundred years are waiting for us. For all three hundreds of us.
posted by Kasarung Jr. at 3:01 AM
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