Life Cycles... PicFic

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Two men hung together, determined to make sure they each got out of danger, while others scattered and ran for their lives.  Shots were being fired at a rapid pace, assalt weapons in the hands of soldiers and civilians who had taken on the military in this beleaguered country.

Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin were caught in the confusion as they attempted to get out of the capitol city and onto a waiting helicopter on the other side of what used to be the governor's palace.  What was left of it was testimony to the anger and violence generated by the man who had been governor and acting president; a strange political hybrid found in backwater places such as this.

Not only was the mansion gone, but the helicopter was nowhere in sight as the two UNCLE agents scoured the grounds for any means of transportation.  None of the usual conveniently located motorcycle, or a car with keys still in the ignition.  Nothing about this assignment had gone acording to anything like their plan, and now they were being shot at by armed amateurs.  Things were very much out of control.

"Illya! Over here, I think there's something beneath this pile of rubble."  Kuryakin saw it too, a tire that seemed to be attached to a frame of some sort.  With any luck at all there might be gas in it and...

"What is that?" Napoleon made a face and looked to his partner for an answer.  Illya stood a little closer, aware now that the shooting seemed to have abated, at least momentarily.  Perhaps the fury was over.

"Here, help me pull it out...' Illya was grunting as he struggled to free whatever was attached to the tire, Napoleon helping with reserve; his suit wasn't completely ruined yet, perhaps he could salvage it.

"Really Napoleon?" A stream of Russian flowed like a river out of his mouth as Illya pulled one last time, falling backwards with the tire firmly in his grasp.

"Where's the rest of it?" Now Napoleon leaned in closer, convinced that a single tire wouldn't be much help.  Illya straightened up and began to examine the tire and the frame that was attached to it.

"It's a unicycle. That means it only has ...'' Napoleon huffed.

"I know what it means Illya.  But what's it doing here?  They ride unicycles in Rindwanda?" The blond sighed, the streets were torn up from the fighting, certainly not suitable for riding on one of these.

"Perhaps it worked well enough at other times.  It looks old, and the seat is missing." He imagined a child perhaps, certainly someone young and with good balance.  It was just so out of place.

The daylight was diminishing as smoke created a haze in front of the sun.  The sudden cessation of gunfire and violence had created an eerie atmospher, as though with a single mind the mob of angry citizens had just shut down.  There were soldiers reappearing now, and to the amazement of Solo and Kuryakin, they began to help the people around them; there was a bizarre new dynamic as the two formerly opposing factions now embraced and ministered to one another.  Some were crying, others hugged and sang out loud.

"What's happening here? Why the change?" Napoleon was caught between amazement and relief.  It seemed that perhaps, this day at least would finish without them being shot.

A young woman, wrapped in colorful layers of cotton cloth and playing an instrument similar to a tambourine, passed by them in a rhythmic dance, followed by several children and a line of other women similarly clothed.  Illya reached out to one of them and asked, in a language Napoleon knew he'd never understand, what had happened to stop the fighting.  She explained to him, laughing and extending her arms toward the rubble that had been the great mansion.  He thanked her and she ran to catch up with the others.

"So, what gives?" Obviously something had occurred, apparently something very good.

"Governor Zimrasi is dead, his cronies also, um... let's just say they are no longer in power.  The military joined in on the revolt and now everyone is on the same side.  It's over.  We can go home."

"Huhh... just like that.  Well then, I say ditch the seatless unicycle and let us find a ride back to New York, pronto." He slapped Illya on the back and watched as the hapless tire fell to the ground, landing next to an abandoned rifle.  The irony of it occupied Napoleon's thinking all the way home.

Comments

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Nicely done and those last few lines made for a brilliant imagery!

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Thank you. It wandered a bit from the photo... just a little.

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

I nearly missed this.

I love the surreal incongruity of the unicycle in the hostile surroundings. Wonderful !

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Thanks, I probably owe that to too many episodes of American Pickers (https://www.history.com/shows/american-pickers?gclid=CjwKCAjwio3dBRAqEiwAHWsNVZ1yEv7hA_gw8v0PUAWgmNw-lulLm-Zuo1CBMtxKO4ENd-TDD_kItRoC2QQQAvD_BwE&&cmpid=paidsearch_G_American+Pickers&s_kwcid=AL!4850!3!266363241534!b!!g!!%2Bamerican%20%2Bpickers&ef_id=V3RHaAAABE2AWZWz:20180920213028:s).