Drawing Blanks

So after being cajoled by three different people that my regular blogging-ness (not that it was ever regular or timely) has fallen somewhat lax in recent month(s), I figured I should probably post something, if only to keep people off my back.

The only problem: I have no idea what to blog about. Also I’m extremely lazy. My heckler in the imaginary crowd breaks free from the cobwebs for a moment to laconically remark, “No shit, Sherlock.”

Which is fun for me and I’m quite sure for you as well, dear reader.

I wish I had pithy and amusing thoughts to impart or amusing anecdotes of a profound and impactful nature. Alas such things are not to be today.

Well, to satisfy your craving for all things Captain of Chickens-wise perhaps a sample of my newest work will feed that chair-shaped void in your hearts.

If that doesn’t work then we’re probably SOL.

To provide a bit of background, this is loosely related to something that can be found in my samples section under the suitably ominous title of “The Dreaming Dead.” Available conveniently by following this here link: http://captainofchickens.com/?page_id=66

Its based in the same original universe, but the tone and style are entirely different as you will no doubt surmise. As always I’ve got grand plans for this little (read: massive) project. I’ll try and keep you and the rest of my imaginary audience updated with how its going.

Anyways, without further adieu here is a sample of my latest magnum opus:

Seemed a spot of hubris to go up against God’s Own Empire, but the Glorious Union had hubris in spades. This worthless spot of land had been contested with blood and fire for the last five years and Corporal Tarless’ regiment, the Shack 7th Regiment of Foot (“The Indentureds”) had been there the whole time.
Knee deep in shit and blood, Tarless didn’t really care. Truth be told he barely recognized his own name being called over the whooping shrieks and thumping crumps of falling ordnance.
He was having a bad day. Just like the one before it and the one before that, stretching back for five years worth of bad days, and from the way things were looking he’d either be dead in the next five minutes or rescued by angels. Seeing as he wasn’t really a fervent believer in Reason’s Cult the latter seemed a tad unlikely.
“Corporal Tarless!” shouted the figure beside him. Somehow the man’s uniform had barely any mud on it and still showed the deep crimson of the Union’s colors. The-almost-spotless nature of the uniform confirmed the man’s station before Tarless saw any of the swirling embroidery on the man’s arms or the cog-and-gear symbols of the man’s rank.
Tarless sketched a laconic and half-hearted salute, his own sleeves a threadbare pink felt. Once it had been the same color as the officer before him, but five years of bleaching rain and blinding sun had washed away the traditional colors.
The newcomer flashed what he probably assumed was a dashing smile, puffed up his chest and said, “The cavalry has arrived corporal.”
Corporal Tarless stared back in answer for a moment before an answering grin spread across his haggard features (although not for the reason the officer thought). Cavalry meant horses, horses meant meat, meat meant food.
“I was sent to inform you and your company to begin the assault,” prattled the officer. The prissy man was taken somewhat aback when a steady stream of liquid spattered around his gleaming boots.
“Corporal, are you….relieving yourself?”
“Yes,” answered the veteran with an accompanying shake as the flow ceased, “Thought it best to get it over with now. No sense pissing myself running into the enemy guns.”
The officers face drooped with noble disgust. “Is your courage that low that you expect to soil yourself at the first sign of the enemy?”
Tarless grunted in response.
“Order your unit to fall in soldier.”
“With respect, sir, they’ve been here the whole time.”
The mounds of mud that surrounded the two men suddenly shifted and two men became eight (well six men and two women as the officer belatedly noticed the barest suggestion of feminine curves buried under clumps of the reddish mud).
One of the mud spattered figures wiped the mud from his bleary eyes, appearing for all the world as if he had just woken up.
The man spoke, “Corporal, care to explain why I smell like I have recently been urinated upon?”
Tarless’ grunted in response and shrugged.
“Haven’t the foggiest, Captain.”

 


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