A/N 2: I'd like to thank prone2dementia for pointing out my grammar mistake. I've read this story a few times and always missed it, so virtual kudos and a big thanks. It took me a while, but I finally got around to fixing it.
I walk outside into the sunshine- the bright, cheerful sunshine, dragging my captive along. Except is he really a captive? I had rescued him from his cell, saved him from the man who was planning on killing him. A timer counts down in my mind, has been counting ever since I had hooked it up (30 seconds now). The canteens thump against my leg, sloshing around but never spilling, a counterpart to the numbers in my mind. The rhythm reminds me of the ones my mother and I would tap out. She would always hum a nursery rhyme to match it, always finding one that fit perfectly. After she died, I tried to recreate those moments, but I never seemed to be able to find a rhyme that fit the whimsical dancing of my fingers.
My not-captive is twisting, turning the arm in my grip (25 seconds). He wants to be free, to be away from the danger and death. Smart boy. But I won't let him go, not yet. The terrain is harsh out there, and he would certainly die unprepared unless he had the luck of the devil. Of course, with the stories that I hear about this teenage spy, he just might. The sun beats down on my neck, on my arms, on the stiff leather of my boots. Dust stirs up as we walk down the main road, little more than a path of dirt through more dirt.
Out came the sun and dried up all the rain…
They see me approach, dragging along someone behind me. The guards are confused, but wait for me to come to them (15 seconds). They are complacent and trust me. Foolish. Here is the gate, and here are the guards. Lift up the gun, and kill all the people. The two men go falling down, falling down. It's always curious how they move after death, with a boneless grace unhindered by nerves and pain and the rules of movement. It's rather like dancing.
Here is the church and here is the steeple. Open the doors and see all the people…
The not-captive is not moving. He's watching me with veiled fear. The unique sound of a body crumpling to the floor must have made an impression. He fears me, which is good, but which makes my heart ache. Can't he see I'm trying to help him? His brown eyes (like his father) squint against the burning sun, and he looks back towards the encampment again (10 seconds). He is longing to go back to the known peril, instead of facing the unknown. I tighten my grip on his arm, and continue walking.
Catch a tiger by his toe…
"Where are you taking me?" The not-captive speaks, voice panicked and trying hard to hide it. It is higher than a man's normally is, but then again he is just a boy in puberty. Perhaps it is cracking. No matter. Doesn't he know it won't help, that I can tell despite his bravado? (9 seconds). He tries to dig his feet in, to stop the march. But we can't stop it, not now. Soon it is going to rain fire and brimstone and searing pieces of metal.
And they all go marching down to the ground to get out of the rain…
We top the first dune, and the desert stretches out in front of us. There is no path, no man-made pointer to find our way. My not-captive stops struggling. The desert never seems to end, and I hold the keys to survival. I pause and turn around, facing the encampment. (4 seconds). He has to see for himself, so he can confirm it when they ask him. Yes, I did see it. I saw it happen and I saw the results and I can tell you nobody survived. He's giving me a questioning look, but he hasn't asked anything yet. He won't get time to. (1 second). Soon we'll be the only ones from the compound left.
The clock struck one the mouse ran down…
There is a pause like the calm before a storm, and then the buildings are hurtling through the air in tiny burning pieces and sound assaults our ears. A ball of fire blooms in the center then quickly spreads outward, destroying everything that had the audacity to stay attached to the ground. It's a roiling burning heaving mess, and a shockwave sends me and my not-captive tumbling down in the sand on the other side of the dune.
Ashes, ashes, we all fall down…
A/N: Originally, this was going to be a very straightforward story. Alex (the not-captive) would be rescued by someone (the narrator) who would rig the building to explode. They would leave, and the compound would go boom. Simple plotline. And then I got the whole idea for relating it to nursery rhymes (which was more difficult to incorporate than it looks) and it kinda morphed and now the narrator is a lot crazier than I had originally anticipated. Anyways, please R/R. I accept anything, including flames.