The March
Microfiction on Conformity

Service--or conformity?
ππππππππππππππππππππππππ
Everyone needs a hero.
So it is that the town of Wilkinson gathered to celebrate the sacrifices of those who cared for those who ran towards flames or pain.
Sirens wailed--not for safety, but empty celebration. The confetti little ones in the audience at the town's stadium fell to its floor in heaps of ash.
The parade was in full swing-- cars drove by with garish clowns staring out the window. Jugglers on pogo sticks smiled twisted smiles as they tossed tennis balls in the air.
Confetti ash stuck to spectators' hands as they waved their party favours. In the middle of the third row, a mask slipped--a child's gaze felt--
Hollow.
Vacant.
ππππππππππππππππππππππππ
The marches began--armed service platoons, and paramedics, now on a different duty. They marched well.
Too well. Too timed. Their boots struck the pavement in a march too stoic--one beyond dignity.
A metallic tang rode the air, filling it with an almost bloodlike taste.
Where there was none.
The crowd started to shift in their seats. Little children eyed the passing clowns, not with laughter or smiles, but stares, locked in place.
Siren calls distorted--the crowd snapped its heads in their direction.
In perfect sync.
Unthinking.
And the marchers lagged behind the music--not under its guidance, but the metronome of another.
ππππππππππππππππππππππππ
The metallic tang thickened, more and more akin to blood. The confetti ash stuck to everyone's hair, greying each member of the crowd.
A crowd of dedicated to service.
One which continued its mechanical cheers.
Then, one of the marchers faltered out of step. His mask slipped.
His face--sunken. Pale. Stoic.
Features affixed.
The crowd soon followed his falter, their masks dutifully slipping.
To the same, unseen rhythm.
Their faces--his.
Sunken. Pale. Stoic.
ππππππππππππππππππππππππ
Silence.
The group of marchers and the crowd stayed still.
As one.
Staring.
At ---
ππππππππππππππππππππππππ
Would you march to the beat of another's drum? Do answer in the comments!
Original story by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.
For Emergency Services Day in the United Kingdom and Mikeydred's Prompt.
About the Creator
Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin
Hi, i am an English Language teacher cum freelance writer with a taste for pets, prose and poetry. When I'm not writing my heart out, I'm playing with my three dogs, Zorra, Cloudy and Snowball.




Comments (11)
Congratulations on a Top Story - The Sweet Taste of Success - enjoy every last moment!
I would think that I'd always be able to tell when leaders are manipulating others and not join them in that. But then the modern world is so polarized that both sides are sure they are on the side of truth.
ππ
nice story
Back to say congratulations on your Top Story πππβ₯οΈπ€
I think of the pied piper story
I love how descriptive this piece is despite its short length. The repetition really drives the point home.
Depressing but well written, the confetti ash was a powerful symbol, loved itβs recurrence
I can't get over those heads, they all look so dead. I love the sobering feel to this piece. I think you described very well what was happening during the march. I especially like how you used the children's expressions to add a little more imagery, a little more insight into your distaste. This line was golden, 'to the same, unseen rhythm. Their facesβ his.Subken. pale. Stoic.' No I would not march to the beat of another's drum. I'd like my own drum. The one that would lead me down a better path. Fantastic work as always, Michelle π€ β€οΈ
Sometimes we have to conform, sometimes we have to break free. I will not conform if conformity is wrong, I will conform if it hurts nobody and benefits all. Another excellent piece
The sensory qualities in your writing are a delight!