Royal We

I counted the words I wrote in this exercise. 707. "Dead on!" I thought to myself. But when I checked the book, the "Royal We" prompt was only for 600. Unedited story text follows. Blah blah blah at the end.

We escaped the night they forgot to put a guard on duty. Normally one of them hassled Paul when he went out to take a piss around three, but that last time no rifle nudged him harshly in the gut. No thick-gloved hand shoved him in the direction of the piss-pit, and no gravely voice made rude remarks about his bodily functions or about his wife. We took advantage of the oversight and escaped.

Susannna was skeptical, saying first that it was a trick, then later that we shouldn't leave the others behind. The crowing of a cock awoke her instincts, though, and our four feet shuffled cautiously over the dirt threshold. Her conscience struck again halfway between the cover of the bunkhouse and the freedom of the back fence and we had to spend a few seconds arguing in harsh whispers. Paul threatened to go alone, saying he would go back for no man and would wait for no woman.

For the next fifty meters, all we heard was the crunch of our own footsteps on the crust of snow littering the yard. Tears fall lightly and make no sound.

We'd never discussed escape, alone or with others. Paul seemed to know what he was doing, though, when we reached the fence. Before the night's chill could fully seep through our worn out sweaters, the wire curtain parted for us, and swept closed again in our wake.

Freed from the oppressing depravity of the camp, Susanna releases the chokehold that had clamped down her emotions for the past several months. Without even moving into the trees, beyond the sight of the tilting buildings of the camp, she breaks down crippling the momentum of our escape.

We are lucky that the snow swallowed the sound of her sobs, but the cold was little encouragement to move farther towards safety. Paul tried coaxing in soft words, but his voice was too comforting. Movement on the barren side of the wire fence forced his hand.

We both reeled from the pain of the slap. The shock of violence was sharpened by the cold, then dulled by adrenaline. Susanna found her feet as the torrent of emotion shifted abruptly from exhausted relief to indignation and anger. Progress came swiftly then and we were beyond earshot then eyesight of the camp within minutes. Susanna was chasing revenge, but we were both leaving the bellows that fueled that fire far behind.

The anger died out as quickly as it had leaped up; our concentration shifted from the quarrel to the struggle across rocky ground in the darkness. Paul led the way over ravine filled with sticks, across broad slippery boulders, and skirting the frequent patches of snow. We labored silently in the moonlight for a thousand frosty breaths before the pace relaxed.

At the top of an embankment Susanna hesitated. Paul already slipped over the side onto a ledge several feet below. We looked at each other for a moment, struggling to climb out of the too-familiar mode of survival and return to a mindset of interaction and humanity. Paul reached it first, lifting his arms to assist his wife.

Susanna reached the same awareness after our feet were once again planted side by side. Our eyes locked, each reading the whirl of thoughts and emotions in the other, waiting to fall into the right gear for our predicament.

Susanna's emotions picked up where they had been left, furious about the violence inflicted by the person most precious to her. We struggled as she tried to pull away. Paul tightened his grip and murmured the sounds of our private language, hoping to cut through the confusion. We argued in short, wordless bursts, exchanging glimpses of fear, worry, and protection.

Paul was watchful. Paul was brave. Paul rescued.
Susanna was caring. Susanna was devoted. Susanna supported.

We gave up our tension a fraction at a time, forgiving each other, reminding each other of the love that had brought us together and kept us together.

After one final squeeze in the embrace we had worked ourselves into, we shared a level, sober gaze. Danger was behind us. The frosty dawn was around us. We could see nothing before us on the path we traveled but black, wet trees.

Hand in hand, we walked forward.

This was hard. And awkward. The idea was the easy part, even though I knew I had to write in the odd "we" point of view. I even have a list of three other ways I want to use the format, though I doubt any of them will be easier to implement.

I picked this version of the prompt to write out first because it's most true to the exercise description in the book. Some of the feeling might've been different if I had re-read the prompt at any time during the writing process (it was several hours, if not a full day, between reading the assignment and starting to write).

Something I avoided in this was using both names in one sentence. Whoever wrote the two line example use both names; had I re-read that bit, I might've done the same. In general, though, I think it's a practice that weakens the "royal we". Unless I weakened it by allowing each sentence to legitimately be able to come out of one mouth or the other.

Maybe I should try again with a duo and permit both names in one sentence (all my other ideas involve large, shifting groups as the "we"), but I don't think those tries will be worthy story attempts. This style falls into an uncanny valley of writing. I think it's a legitimate style to refer to oneself in the third person, or to use the royal "we" as an individual, but using "we" for a finite people and never using "I"... is just uncomfortable. (An exception to this would be someone on the sidelines in a group, where the narrator never does anything alone, but others do.)

Anyhow, the attempt above is very loosely inspired by a scene in the movie Katyn. Despite going 107 words over wordcount, I left out a lot of description and detail in the action covered above, plus have a second act I could add to it. We'll see.



I had a cool title for this post that covered both today's writing and today's dinner, but I can't remember what it was.

Dinner was late and in a hurry. I dumped white rice and a few roughly smashed cloves of garlic in the rice cooker to be our starch/side. We don't have a meat mallet, so I filled an empty salsa jar with water and used it to pound a chicken breast flat. It was a pretty messy way to go. Flat chicken breast was wrapped around some diced onion and fresh rosemary, then the whole thing wrapped in bacon (4 slices). Popped it in the oven. Boiled then cooled some fresh green beans, tossed them in a skillet with sauteed red bell peppers to keep warm. Salt and pepper.

The bacon was slightly under cooked (for how we like it), but the chicken was perfect. All plated up, dinner looked wonderful. Tasted good, too.

These days I usually prefer to use a recipe than just cook on the fly like this (not because I screw up regular food, but because I want to try more different things and expand my skill set), but it's nice to know I can make a good dinner out of fresh ingredients, even if I'm clueless 20 minutes before I start.