by Kate Maxwell
Azim squints into the midday glare. Keep your eyes open, he reminds himself. One more hour patrolling the bridge and baking under this relentless blue. He scans the narrow pathway: just prams, joggers, and tourists taking selfies. Nothing out of the ordinary. But there never really is. Sometimes, a few drunks to deal with if you’ve copped a night shift, but mostly it’s walking, watching, and more walking.
“Can get pretty boring, hey?” A large man beside him says.
Azim blinks, takes a step backwards. Where did he come from?
“I’m a guard too,” the man offers. “Bit different to you, though.”
He grins, cracking his tanned, leathery face into laugh lines. Azim takes in the man’s massive frame, muscles bulging from his T-shirt.
People sometimes chatted benignly, as he walked his course, often wanting directions or asking questions about the bridge, to which he made up half-truth answers. However, instinct now tells him this man is singling him out, trying to distract him. Azim lays a hand casually on his radio. He knows instantly that he is no match for this giant if there’s any trouble.
“Yep, it’s a long, hard day where you have to keep your wits about you.” The big man points at his eyes to indicate watching.
“True. Well, have a good day, Sir…”
“What I mean is,” the man continues. “Back where I come from, this seems like a pretty simple job – harbour view, easy tourists.” He holds his big hand up to the sky. “You don’t seem convinced. Why don’t I show you what I mean.”
He places a hand on Azim’s shoulder, and, before Azim can speak or press his radio button, he is suddenly and inexplicably free falling. Stomach catapulting, spinning uncontrollably, the sky falls away to black.
He lands. Breathing raggedly, Azim reaches out to grab the iron fence and grasps nothing but space. It is dark. He stumbles awkwardly to his knees. Something hard and heavy presses down onto his head and against his cheeks. His shoulders and chest feel compressed and leaden. Azim’s eyes adjust and the shadowy blur of shapes starts to clarify. He stares in horror at his companion. Lit by the flame of a mounted torchlight, the man from the bridge is frowning across at him, now in full Roman armour, holding a long spear and golden shield.
“What the….” Azim begins, looking down at his own iron and leather-clad body.
“Get to your feet, man. Eyes ahead,” the large man hisses. “The Emperor’s returning soon. Do you want a lashing?”
Azim touches his own helmet and runs his fingers down his chest plate.
“Pick up your bloody shield and pila,” the man says.
Azim dumbly complies. They are ridiculously heavy. Behind him, four huge marble columns loom, and ahead, a flight of wide stairs. He teeters to his feet.
“What the hell are you talking about? Where the hell am I?” he pants.
“You’re on guard, man. Wake up. Here come the Praetorians.” The man nods towards the tall gates about 300m away. “Eyes ahead.”
Emerging from the darkness, with a clatter of hooves and shields, canters a cohort of about twenty men on horseback. They pound to a stop at the foot of the stairs. Horses snort and toss their heads, their glossy coats shining in the torchlight. A man in ornate robes and armour dismounts. This cannot be happening. Azim’s head throbs. The robed man and two other elaborately armoured men walk up the steps. Azim’s companion mutters urgently again,
“Eyes ahead.”
He stands as straight as he can manage, staring ahead as the men pass between them and into the entrance of the building. Another hiss implies that he should remain still, as they watch the other men depart. Soldiers trot their horses off to a side exit, presumably to the stables, leading the three riderless horses with them.
“Ok, this is bloody crazy,” Azim snarls at the guard beside him. “I don’t know how you’ve done this or what loopy trip I’m having right now. I just want out.”
“Relax, man. There’s only an hour left of duty.”
Azim opens his mouth and continues to stare at the guard. For a moment he has nothing. Reality seems to have vanished.
“But we were just on the bridge. Where the hell am I? Where are my clothes? What’s going on?”
The large man looks at him with an expression Azim cannot quite read.
“Not meant to talk on duty, you know. Eyes Ahead. Told you before.”
Panic starts to overwhelm him. Then he remembers. On the bridge, just before he found himself in this Roman parallel universe, hallucination, or whatever the hell it was, the big man had grabbed his shoulder. It was worth a try. With an effort, he thrusts forward and clutches the guard’s arm, landing his hand upon a metal-covered shoulder.
A few sickening seconds later he blinks into blinding sunlight. Seagulls squawk overhead. Azim runs his hand over his cotton shirt and touches his cap. The large man, now dressed in T-Shirt and shorts again, is walking away. Then he turns back to Azim, grinning, and points his fingers towards his own eyes, then forwards. Azim musters all his self-control in order not to jump on this giant Roman guard and beat him, until he or Azim is senseless. But he understands his meaning. Eyes ahead.
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kate Maxwell grew up in the Australian bush. Now a city dweller, her interests include film, wine, and sleeping. Her work has been published and awarded in many Australian and International literary magazines. Kate’s published two anthologies: Never Good at Maths (Interactive Publications, 2021) and Down the Rabbit Hole (Ginninderra, 2023). Find her at https://kateswritingplace.com/
ABOUT THE ARTIST
Hanna Marie Dean Wright is a self-taught folk artist residing in Keavy, Kentucky. She uses her experiences from growing up in rural South-Eastern Kentucky, teaching special education classes, and living with obsessive compulsive disorder to inspire her unique works of art. Hanna Wright uses bold lines and bright colors to create abstract figures with relatable and at times deeply emotional expressions. Hanna was born in Barbourville, Kenucky on April 15th, 1993. Hanna graduated from the University of the Cumberlands in 2015 with degrees in Special Education Behavioral Disabilities and Elementary Education.
Artist Website: https://www.pinterest.com/hwright4643/artwork-by-hanna-wright-of-keavy-kentucky/
Artist Social Media: Instagram @AppalachianScribble