Dave Maguire (justcallmedave) wrote in midway_ic, @ 2011-08-19 02:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | dave maguire, vlad smith, week 1 |
{ w h o } Vlad, Dave
{ w h a t } witnesses to the resurrection, in a manner of speaking
{ w h e n } Thursday
{ w h e r e } the midway
{ r a t i n g } PG-ish
It took a little judicious eavesdropping for Dave Maguire to determine that the carnival had stopped in Indianapolis. He tried to remember the last time he'd cared enough to pay attention to their current location. Or to what day of the week it was. Thursday, Dave thought with a sense of dawning wonder. It was Thursday in Indianapolis, Indiana, and he'd noticed.
He crawled under the ride that needed repair, balancing his weight on elbows and knees to spare his hands and feet. Dave flopped gracelessly onto his back, peering up at the lattice of metal struts and ties before selecting a wrench from the tool kit he'd dragged under the machine with him and setting to work loosening a bolt. The handle of the wrench pressed against his palm and the wound centered there seeped blood. Dave ignored it, accepting the necessity of changing his bandages and wiping down the wrench and other tools after he finished the job. It had been a while, he reflected, since he'd felt acceptance instead of resignation. Curiosity instead of the blank, dull disinterest of depression. It had been a while since he'd done more than just survive. Today the fog had lifted and he felt alive.
And in the wake of this minor epiphany there was still work to be done. Dave wrestled with an uncooperative rusty bolt. Feet clad in old, scuffed leather boots protruded from beneath the ride, the only part of his body visible from the lane between the midway booths.
"Damned stubborn Hoover hunk of rusty worthless... Loosen up already, you little sonofabitch," he swore cheerily, disembodied voice drifting up from the bowels of the machinery.