Once more onto the bridge, my friend

Posted on Sun Nov 17th, 2024 @ 19:30 by Alastair Temple

Chapter: Besieged
Location: The brigde outside Avalon
669 words - 1.3 OF Standard Post Measure

A now familiar figure once more emerged from the castle, once again carrying a chair and his guitar. Those at the blockade glanced up, recognizing the form as the institute's music teacher. Some went back to their business, some watched with interest, as he made his way to the bridge again, once more looking like he was on a mission. Still that same, deep, seething anger, that needed an outlet. And he only knew one way how to give his defiance that voice.

Once again he set his folding chair down just inside the castle's private property, where he felt reasonably safe, where he figured the public servants wouldn't be able to touch him. Though even if they did, he figured he'd just shift into his raven form and fly away. Part of him, the recalcitrant rock star part, wished they'd try, just so that he could make a mockery of their futile attempt. But the sane, sensible part of him knew that something like that was only going to make things worse.

Instead he sat down on his folding chair and hefted his guitar. A few strums, slightly turning the knobs on the headstock until he was satisfied with the tuning, he closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a deep breath, his expression hardening as he once more opened his eyes and regarded the armed guards at the blockade.

"Now when you climb," he began, his warm, resonant baritone rumbling over the simple, staccato chords on the acoustic guitar. Behind him the sun was setting. Soon it would be time for dinner, but now it was time for protest. "into your bed tonight, and when you lock and bolt the door, just think of those out in the cold and dark, 'cos there's not enough love to go 'round. No there's not enough love to go 'round."

The words were soft, at first, a plea. Slowly as he sang them they gained an edge though, more than the 1969 original ever had. "And sympathy is what we need my friend. And sympathy, is what we need. And sympathy is what we need my friend, 'cos there's not enough love to go 'round." His words had taken on a warning tone. Still a plea, but with a note of darkness, as he stood up, continuing to play the chords on the guitar, using the original chord progression in the key of B flat minor.

"Now half the world, hates the other half. And half the world, makes all the rules," He deviated from the original lyrics here. Times had changed, and though the song was as relevant as it had ever been in the twenty four years since it had come out, the situation was different and the new lyrics reflected that. "AND HALF THE WOOOOOOOORLD HIDES OUT IN FEAR AND SHAME," The words snarled in barely withheld rage, the false fold scream technique so often heard in deathmetal, to emphasize the meaning, it was the closest he could come to roaring it out. "'COS THERE'S NOT ENOUGH LOVE TO GO 'ROUND."

"And sympathy is what we need my friend," his clean, rich baritone sounded again, but still with that edge. That anger. That plea. But not a quiet one, this had the undertone of a warning. "And sympathy is what we need. And sympathy is what we need my friend, 'cos there's not enough love to go 'round. No there's not enough love to go 'round." And once again he'd said his piece. The words would fall on deaf ears, he knew, but he still figured he had to say them. To make them heard. To give - ... to be a voice for those who had none.

Quietly he once again slung his guitar onto his back, arm through the sling, as he picked up his folding chair and made the trek back to the castle.