Wednesday, July 18, 2012

The Personal Training Wakefield

In the days before the Big Storm, we had a term for those terrible fields. The name had a triple-meaning. They were the fields where we woke up. They were the fields where impromptu wakes were held for the fallen citizens of the unsuspecting towns that we raided. They were the fields where we experienced a deeper awakening, if only for the most sinister of reasons. They were wake-fields. It was on one particular night that one particular wake-field became “The” wake-field. We named it Wakefield with a capital “W,” and it was this particular place where we began to grow our merry band.

We’re pirates of sorts, you might say. We don’t sail ships; we always operated on the land. Our methods were simple; we raided the suburbs first. We’d usually take a stronghold first; large buildings with high ceilings, ample floor space, and relatively few people inside would generally work well as temporary holding areas for our weapons and cargo. We struck like lightning and we left like the wind. We built a system whereby we could raid and loot every house in a subdivision in a matter of several hours. We decided that we needed to establish a training center—a personal training center—where new pirates could learn the art of conquering the world, one quaint town at a time. We ended up creating a personal training wake-field.

The little town that we encountered on the map just happened to be surrounded on all sides by water. There was a church in the center and a large health club next to the church. These central plots were surrounded on all sides by homes, each looking identical to the next. Our initial survey revealed that this development would be perfect for our permanent headquarters. That would require removing the dwellers from their homes, but we weren’t above such things. We devised a plan that would require three years of carefully planned execution. This wasn’t normal, but usually our objective was to grab loot and run. In this case, we were here to stay.

Wakefield lived up to its name. Over the first twelve months, we encouraged a number of people to leave the neighborhood through a series of carefully-orchestrated burglaries. However, some were stubborn and refused to leave. We made sure they were never seen again. We held a wake in their honor, celebrating the occasion with beer and plastic Viking horns that we stole from a Wal-Mart at a Halloween clearance sale. We decided that it was appropriate to conduct our personal training in Wakefield. The world, after all, was our Wakefield.

Our ranks grew over the next several years as we continued to seize hold of different towns. Our dream of reviving the wild, wild west was becoming a reality. Soon, many began to speak of the personal training wake-field as a Mecca of sorts, and indeed, our brethren began to make pilgrimages to the personal training wake-field to see the health club where we first planted our flag. We were kings in those days; no one dared question us or even speak aloud about us. We had eyes and ears in every tavern, and it was said that a town who spoke of us would become the next wake-field. I suspect that they were correct, but troubles began brewing.

Throughout the land, we had made a tradition of making our strongholds in gyms and health clubs. They had become town halls of sorts. It was in these wakefield gyms that the tide began to turn against us from within our own ranks. It was within these gyms that the resistance was born, and it was our merriment and foolhardiness that led us to think we could never be dethroned. I write these words from my prison cell within the personal training wake-field, awaiting execution. What was once my palace has now become my prison. This time, it will be my wake that’s held in the field. I suppose this is just after all.

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