Tell A Tale in 500 Words

Revolution By Joanna Hunter


“We are considering and will inform you later.”

Mr. Lewitt wandered out into the spring sunshine to spend an anxious lunch hour awaiting the decision on his completed design. He had barely spoken to anyone all morning. The rest of the office enjoyed a camaraderie from which he was excluded. As he turned out of the market square alongside a canal, he felt a little shock of abhorrence. Pushing through the crowd towards him was sly smug Chad Black wearing the usual office scowl.

Mr Lewitt quickly veered to one side of the path and felt himself pushed along with the flow of the crowd and against a fence amongst a throng of excited children. A fairground organ sounded its galloping horn.

“Hey, can you ride the big horses?” A boy pushed in front of Mr. Lewitt, grinning up at him; he was in the queue for the roundabout. “I do believe I can!” Having not been allowed on the big carousel as a child, he would try his luck. Mr. Lewitt climbed onto a painted horse with all the dignity he could muster.

Round & round he whizzed; Mr. Lewitt began to feel joyful at the galloping motions and cheers from children. From nowhere, a sudden lurching of nostalgia caught his breath. His father had once slapped him for his incessant singing of the 'Roundabout Song'. For several revolutions, this memory wrenched his innards tearing at all the years of obligation, bending to his father's will, ensnaring his own creativity.

Suddenly the rotating scenery threw an image into focus – Chad Black, on the canal bank, hunched beside a rival colleague, Brian. Chad's neck craned forwards as if hissing secrets; he was clutching Mr. Lewitt's portfolio. The roundabout began to feel like a relentless grindstone, colours once bright now smudging, flared nostrils of the horses straining away from the riders, forever galloping away from something and yet going nowhere.

Mr Lewitt began to feel dizzy, images spinning round his head, shadows against a golden glow of sympathetic horses. The carousel soon slowed; he was riding with the rhythm now, breathing evenly.

Dennis Lewitt was renowned for his reliability - of course, it was difficult for the company to acknowledge his extraordinary flair. “The question is whether Dennis will say boo to a goose?” The committee smiled and knew that could never happen.

Brian Goddard was surprised to receive a phone call soon after he had closed the deal with Chad. He usually spoke with the Marketing Department, not artists themselves. The deal was off, in favour of some other arrangement.

That very afternoon, Dennis Lewitt resigned his job & took up the reins of independent artistry. “I do believe I can!” He repeated the words said to Mr Goddard when asked if he would work freelance, images already in mind for a first submission of his friendly gallopers: “Revolution”.

Joanna Hunter

November 2016

489 words

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