Inhalation in, exhalation out. This is how I once walked, in time with the accordionist’s apparatus. Twice every day I did pass him. A bushy halo surrounded his elliptical head, shielding whatever secrets lay below. The solemn sound reciting songs, protests and, at one time, hope. Thought not today. The mechanically worked sound of a Bob Dylan tune carries through the streets, through the whispers and speculations of anonymous faces. “Atomic bomb”, “Spy”, “War”, “Annihilation” all create mushroom clouds of warm breath in the cold air as I wade through the crowds. Side-glancing, shady figures in dank doorways loom as the crowd moves in unison towards the tele-boards, broadcasting the lastest of the situation. Static cut through the tense, fearful air and the crowd falls deathly still.
This is the beginning of a piece I have created and is based on the atmosphere and the tension of the Cold War period. I’ve set it in a pre-apocalyptic setting which could work as a prequel to the works of Ray Bradbury, especially There Will Come Soft Rains, and another story “If I Forget Thee, Oh Earth” by Arthur C. Clarke. It reflects a time that permeates anxiety and trust-less despair.
Rosie O'Meley 