16 March 2024, @mariannewest's Freewrite Writing Prompt Day 2313: what’s in the bag?

This post was inspired by today's writing prompt in the Freewriters Community; "What's In The Bag ?"

Enjoy !

Image created by AI in NightCafe Studio

The barricade was swarming with heavily armed police in full body armour.

John Smith (not his real name, of course) tried to look calm as he approached. It was a chilly day, but he was still sweating. He was unaccustomed to the smart business suit he was wearing, a far cry from his usual jeans and polo shirt, but he knew he had to look respectable for this to work. In his left hand, he carried a briefcase; in his right, a very full re-usable carrier bag.

The checkpoint only had one gap in it. A space between two police vans just wide enough for a table and three police. Their uniforms and equipment were more like military combat gear than civilian police. Full body armour, ballistic helmets and plasma rifles.

As John approached, the nearest policeman held up a hand authoritatively.

"Step forward. What's in the bag ? Put it on the table for inspection."

John put the briefcase down by the table leg so that he could use both hands to lift the heavy carrier bag up onto the table. Without a word, one of the policemen opened the bag and started looking through the contents, a disapproving look imprinted on his face, clearly his default expression when dealing with the public.

"You've got food in here. Meat, even. Far more than the ration allows. You're allowed to have half a kilo of meat per family, and two kilos of vegetables or bread. Looks like you've got twice that here."

The three policemen descended on the bag, and took not just half the contents, but more like three quarters. Up close, John could see how thin and grey they were. Perhaps malnutrition was even spreading to the lower ranks of government stooges.

Their greedy work done, the first policeman announced pompously, "Okay, you can go. I don't want to see you trying to smuggle food again. It's lucky you're clearly a civil servant. Anyone else would be off to a re-education camp by now."

John nodded subserviently, picking up the carrier bag with both hands. "Yes sir. Thank you, officer. You won't see me again."

He knew he spoke the truth. As he walked away, he did his best to keep this pace to a slow, even trudge. An even pace, like a metronome.

One thought went through his mind. "Long live the revolution."

At exactly one hundred paces, the bomb in the briefcase he'd left under the table detonated.....