STOP CHILDREN, WHAT'S THAT SOUND?

A perfect day for three flower children turns to terror as night closes in.



“Hot town, summer in the City...”

Amplified strains of the Lovin’ Spoonful beating like a current upon the afternoon, preceded Matt Hansen’s tricked-out 1959 milk truck as it navigated the turns of Topanga Canyon. The day was ripe for possibility.

Up ahead, thumbs outstretched beguilingly toward the oncoming traffic, Crystal and Sadie stood at a bend in the road; lithe and tan, their sun-streaked hair seeming to ripple up the canyon all the way to the sea. Congratulating himself on his good fortune, his admiring eyes took in the peasant top that gathered colorfully at Sadie’s neckline to frame a silver peace sign on a leather thong.

Crystal, standing slightly behind in low-slung cut-offs and hot pink halter top tugged gently on a length of rope tied to a baby goat which leapt forward and nuzzled her leg.

Startled, Matt’s foot found the brake pedal with too much force, sending him jerking forward onto the steering wheel as the truck lurched to a stall in front of them. Crystal’s dark eyes crinkled with laughter.

“Is that a real thing?” Matt blurted out through his open window.

“The goat?” responded Crystal.

“Yeah,” said Matt. “Is it?”

“Of course,” said Crystal. “You high, or something?”

“Kinda’” said Matt.

“You goin’ to the valley?” Sadie asked him.

“Hollyweird!” Matt told them

“Oooh!! Take us with you!” squealed both girls.

‘What a day for a daydream…’

“You’re hitching with a goat?” he asked.

“That a problem?”

“No… just never seen that before…kinda’ a Mary’s little lamb thing…he’s really real, right?”

“Affirmative.” Crystal grinned.

“That’s so cool,” said Matt, opening the back to let the goat leap in.

“Nice truck” said Sadie eyeing the inside.

“Bitchin‘!” agreed Crystal reaching for the radio knob.

‘Get your motor runnin‘…’


“What’s that hand-crank for?” asked Sadie, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“For raising up my sunlight collector,” said Matt.

“And you collect sunlight because…?”

“It’s energy keeps my beer cold!” beamed Matt, studying the eyeliner-drawn daises blooming across her apple-cheeks. He hands the girls two icy brews from a weirdly wired igloo cooler, and toasts, “To a day framed in music and flowers!”

“To music and flowers!”

(Now, give a man a fishing pole and he eats for a week, give a man some Panama Red and he sits around all day inventing crazy things which, if implemented, might enrich someone's life. Give a man a handful of cross-top amphetamines and you can consider those ideas implemented. -This explains a host of other ‘enhancements’ to Matt’s truck as well; A permanent passenger swivel chair, folding table, loft bed, two invisible floor panels with hidden cargo space beneath and some very clever secret stash areas, for starters.)

“Wanna’ get high? Matt asked.

“On what?” Sadie inquired.

“Hard to know,” Matt answered producing, seemingly out of nowhere, a large jar of random pills. “My ‘Take a Chance Bottle’. You takes a pill, and you takes a chance.”

On cue, Steppenwolf surged through camouflaged speakers, an anthem to ripening possibility;

“Oh, you don‘t know girl, what you can find…Why don’t you come with me little girl… on a magic carpet ride…”

As the milk truck turned onto Sunset Boulevard, each was struck by an undercurrent of unfolding apprehension. As they drew nearer to Beverly Hills, they wondered aloud what was causing this odd mixture of discomfort.

“I think I got acid,” said Crystal.

“I feel like I’m on downers,“ said Sadie.

“Who the fuck cares, just go with the flow!” giggled Matt, thinking he‘d gotten the MDA.
Later, no one would remember who said what to whom as the night turned dramatically darker.



Originally, the protest planned against police brutality and the stringent enforcement of the Chamber of Commerce’s recent curfew by the LAPD was designed to began at a popular jazz/coffee house called “Pandora’s Box”. Pandora's was in danger of being shut down due to police harassment.

Owners of ‘The Fifth Estate’ next door, had distributed flyers for days, and now, thick crowds of demonstrators clogged the intersections bringing Matt’s truck to a sudden standstill. Forced to leave it in the street, the three made their way on foot towards Pandora’s, to join the happening.

It all began peacefully, but what they didn’t know was that a local radio station had been hawking warnings of a riot brewing all day, and as a result, by 9 pm, more than 3,000 protestors jammed the streets which spilled onto Sunset and Crescent Heights creating another traffic jam. Bus drivers honked angrily, screaming at kids to move. In response, demonstrators climbed onto the roofs of their buses and began to dance.

One youth scrawled "Free the 15 Year Olds!" on a windshield, another broke a window with a fire extinguisher. On the fringe, there were scuffles between long-haired protestors and some Marines.

At that point, Matt, Sadie and Crystal began to retreat through the melee as quickly as possible, at last reaching the relative safety of Matt’s truck. Inside, he pried up the panels and helped them climb into the cargo holds. The goat, now shivered in Crystal's arms, seeming to sense the terror in the air, his fearful bleating haunting the night. Hidden there, they would ride out the storm in relative safety.

Shortly after 10 p.m., a hundred cops used their nightsticks brutally, to clear the sidewalks. Police with drawn revolvers chased kids into Pandora's then dragged them out again. Panicky protestors trying to retreat westward down Sunset collided with a wall of riot-ready sheriff. The night turned bloody as they faced off in the street.

In the shadows, Topanga Canyon guitarist Stephen Stills picked up a crushed flower and a tattered flyer;

“Tonight: Protest Police harassment of long-haired individuals in Hollywood, in front of Pandora’s Box, teenage nightclub!”

on it's back, he penned some words;

‘Something’s happening here, what it is ain’t exactly clear. There’s a man with a gun over there. Telling me I got to beware…”

…then slipped both into his pocket before disappearing into the fiery night.



-taree Belardes @ 9/26/11
NYCMIDNIGHT FLASH FICTION COMP
ROUND 2
Time;48 hrs
Genre; Open
Location; A protest
Object to be included; A solar Panel









http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gp5JCrSXkJY