Posted July 13, 2020 | Link to post: towncrier.puritan-magazine.com/barbara-radecki-messenger-93/
[Excerpt] Placards stabbed the spaces around me. Calls and chants echoed in my ears. Tourists and suits blocked my way as they stopped to watch.
Then I saw him. Standing apart from the crowd, outside the circle of dancers. Tweed cap, black hoodie, over-stuffed backpack strapped to his back. A knife holstered underneath his sleeve. White faceless mask hiding his identity.
Someone had to stop him from doing what he came here to do.
He jabbed the Jocelyn-poster over his head in time to the drumbeat. No one seemed to notice him. Even though he looked packaged. Packed with aggression.
It swarmed me in a cathartic rush: HE IS THE FALL. I was Joan of Arc. Driven by purpose. Protected by armor. Marching into battle. I was doing what I was called to do.