The Monk, the Clerk and the General
by Dictafone Danny
Copyright 2011 Dictafone Danny
Smashwords Edition
The Clerk to the Ministry of Affairs washes a cup, to ensure a clean offering. He uses green tea bought on the way to work. Since the fuel prices went up it now takes almost an hour to cycle - a bus ticket is out of the question. It takes an hour not just because both he and his bike are old but also because the front wheel is buckled and minus most of its spokes. He is lucky, most of his friends have either lost their jobs or been told not to bother coming in again when they were unable to afford to get to work.
The Clerk decides that when he finishes making tea he will give the remainder of the packet to the Chief Monk as alms. The old woman who sold him the tea had bowed and smiled but stopped short of speaking to him. She was usually in the habit of enquiring after his ageing mother. Few people now talk to him on the street and he misses the interaction. He no longer meets friends in one of the many tea houses dotted around the city. The new rules mean they are likely to be dispersed or picked up if there are more than a handful of them gathering in one place. People go about there business, fearful to stop, fearful to talk and terrified to refer to the demonstrations. Furthermore the temples are empty and the army is still searching for protestors. The Clerk has not been involved in the protests ... he has his job to think about and so instead he has spent the past week fashioning arrows from the spokes of his bicycle in order to hurl at the soldiers as they pass his house. He has not yet plucked up the courage to use them, having hidden them under the floorboards without telling his family.
The Clerk knows he is relatively privileged for he has a secure job and can just about afford to feed his family. There is a pension and his three children get the pick of the local schools. He is also able to pull a few strings to ensure his mother gets medical attention for her high blood pressure.