Barricades by Ben Hayward

He got in the car at seven near Aylesbury.
He was dead at eleven near Shrewsbury.
I don't recall the in-between time.
I know I buried him in a ditch somewhere near Stockport,
And that I ate lunch with him as we passed Birmingham.
I don't know what set me off.
Maybe it was the chase.
The refusal.
Those dancing lights skating ahead of me on the motorway.
Some things never change.

Barricades by Solomon Blaze

‘No’ ‘avin’ seconds though’s are ya’?’ asked Dakar, nudging Vann in the side with his war club.

Vann looks at Dakar with obvious disdain, why did they even send this guy? I told them, I can handle this on my own.

‘Jus stay outta’ my way Dak. Only jump in if – for some yet incomprehensible reason – I get into trouble.’

‘Wha’ever,’ Dakar said before spitting off the edge of the cliff.

At the bottom of the hundred foot drop; a gargantuan plane of dry white dirt, with heat waves billowing up from the cracks on its surface. Roughly twenty miles into the distance; the Crimson Militia and Cobalt Forces, each dressed in their respective colours. Even further past the endless horde; The Tower and their current objective: break through the ceiling of The Tower and see if the legends are true – because if they’re not, than the past five years really have been for nothing; and we’re all fucked...

The sky was a beautiful mid-morning green; the yellow and blue Suns both hanging low on the horizon, reflecting off the moving barricade’s multicoloured armour in a psychedelic fashion.

Roughly ten thousand men on the ground, maybe five thousand in the air, Vann thought to himself as he scanned the enemy, with the kind of precision that comes from either practice, or powers.

Is this seriously the best that the “King of Unison” can throw at me?

‘Right, I’m off.’ said Vann, clenching his fist and leaping from the edge of the canyon, spreading his arms out wide as he plummets down, savouring the taste and feel of the wind running across his skin, before flipping himself over to land with his feet flat on the brittle, bone-dry ground, sending a torrent of rubble upwards and back down again, crumbling to pieces and covering Vann in a thick cloud of sand-dust. His legs quivered slightly then settled after the shock subsided.

From where Vann stood now the ivory white dirt took on the lime green hue of the sky; afternoon Twilight they called it; something you only got in the dessert. Against the colourful horizon, the colourful soldiers were but a colossal silhouette.

Vann started running. He broke into a full-throttle sprint within a split second, the atmosphere roaring past his ears as he tore across the landscape.

The Militias were close enough now to make out in detail; metallic blue helmets with Triceratops horns and a folded steel sword in each hand, accompanied shining rouge chest plates bearing Lions, Tigers and Bears, each with its own cleaver and parrying tanto. Vann felt the familiar anxious uncertainty and couldn’t help but marvel at the King’s ability to unite all peoples under one banner.

~ That sure is a lot of enemies ~ said the imaginary voice in Vann’s head.

I’m not scared...said Vann to the voice.

‘I’m not scared...’ he whispered aloud to himself – not that he could hear it at this speed.

Now it was time.

Vann launched himself the rest of the way towards the stampede of hatred that hurtled itself towards him, letting out a tremendous and desperate battle cry as he dove into the fray;

Fist raised;

Heart pounding;

Soul on fire...

Barricades by Sara Travis

Too young, they said. Too young
to bear the weight of a heart
heavy with love.
We disagreed.
We lived and loved with an urgency,
as if at any moment it could be snatched away,
stolen and crushed.
But something changed.
You wrapped yourself up in these barricades,
A barbed wire fence around your heart,
You said,
Even the sweetest honey is loathsome
in its own deliciousness;
So we now we love moderately instead.

Barricades by Lesley Whyte

She couldn't bring herself to look at him. She fussed with the flowers and fidgeted with the curtains, adjusting them every time a cloud moved. She didn't want the room to be too bright or too dull, it was a constant battle, but it kept her hands busy and her thoughts occupied so she didn't mind. She got as close as bending to adjust his tie, focusing on the stripes of silver and black and ice blue, on the weave of the silk under her fingertips. She untied and retied his shoelaces seven times in total. She wanted to fix the cufflink on his left wrist, but she couldn't bear the thought of disturbing him by touching his skin, even briefly.

Time seemed to stop in that small room. After a while, she took a seat in the armchair by the window, the one she had always favoured, and read to him from the paper, starting with the sports pages as was their tradition. He had always read the sports pages first, handing her the arts section, which he had no time for, and then perused the rest, spending longer on business than politics, less on lifestyle than science. Then they would do the crossword together, him always using pen and refusing to put anything in until they were absolutely certain. It could take them hours sometimes, and was more of a mental exercise than anything else.

There was a gentle knock at the door just as she closed the newspaper. She stood up, smoothed down her skirt and set the folded newspaper on the arm of the chair. She hesitated for a moment, and then looked down at her husband.

She pressed two fingers to her lips and then placed them on his. "Goodbye," she whispered, and then left the room, rejoining the world of the living. They would go to the church now and say their final goodbyes, she would be surrounded by their weeping children and fidgeting grandchildren, but she would not cry. She had already said her farewell.

Barricades by James D. Irwin

He thought the girl in the threadbare coat was beautiful. He would come by every day after school, hoping to catch a glimpse of her walking by. She wasn't pretty, not in the way girls were supposed to be pretty. She wasn't blonde. He was captivated by her in ways he didn't understand, and didn't think he ever would.

He couldn't speak to her. He hoped he’d be able to, one day. There had been no sign of her for three days now, but still he waited, undeterred. He was up on his toes, his body straining for a better view.

A long passage of time passed. He didn't mind. His mind was off in a distant future where he and his sad angel were together and happy and peaceful. A heavy finger fell on his shoulder, and fantasy faded.

The soldier, a granite-faced monolith dressed all in black, pulled the boy away from the barricade. Darkness had begun to fall. The boy ran home, longing for tomorrow.

Barricades by Nick Trussler

‘Hold the barricades men! They won’t come in yet!’

The men looked to their leader for inspiration. He was a man of the old school. He had been in this bloody business for 40 years and he knew all the drills, all the situations, all the tactics of the enemy.

He stroked his moustache in anticipation of the oncoming horde. They would make a fine stand here, he thought.

The doors began to shake and rattle. Despite his earlier cry he knew they would not, knew that they could not, hold them. He looked to his men, smartly dressed though this would not help them much in the face of what was to come.

The doors rattled more violently and the barricades began to shake. It was useless to offer any more resistance but orders must be obeyed.

He sighed and looked at his watch. It was time.

‘Move the barricades and open the doors!’ he shouted, and the order was carried out.

Almost instantaneously the horde of Boxing Day shoppers exploded into the furniture store.

Day Five

And today's prompt is...

Barricades