Part Three
April 26th, 1916
These past few days have been a nightmare. While on patrol with two of my compatriots on the 23rd at around midnight or so, a pack of rebel insurgents sprung from behind a pile of rubble incapacitating me. I suspect the two others didn’t receive that sort of mercy. The next thing I remember was being utterly terrified (Yet I’d never let it show) and I had woken up in a makeshift cell made of chicken wire. It was around noon when I came to. The white walls were drowned in propaganda to support Irish Independence and freedom. Around my cage was a gigantic mess of boxes, crates, ammunition, arms, swords, and all manner of materials that could help the Irish against us. The room was barely recognizable, but through my limited training, I could identify it as the main hall of the Irish General Post Office. The headquarters of the Irish Rebellion.
Only a handful of people occupied the great hall and they all busied themselves with cleaning weapons and checking supplies. Gun shots and cannon fire could be heard quietly in the distance. The British army is finally closing in on the General Post Office, but not fast enough. Two armed men walked in from the main hall. They stopped in front of me and took a seat. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought they were trying to get me to join and fight for the Irish. They talked about their land and how it was unfair that the British took their land and wouldn’t give it back. Really just whining. Then a man with a vanilla folder walked in with my old friend Phillip O’Malley! I hadn’t seen him in ages! He’s far less handsome now. The man sits in a chair next to the little desk in front of my cage and starts speaking. It's odd, he was speaking to me but he didn’t look at me once. “My friend, Phillip, here says he knows you from somewhere, is that true?” “Ye, we lived near each other and went to the same school.” I sternly replied. “He’s Irish alright. We'll see what we can do with him.” They talked as if I wasn’t there. Then the man took his eyes of of the folder and onto me. “Listen here, my name is Tom Clarke. You have been given the liberty to fight for the Irish cause. If you comply with this, in time, you will be freed.” That definitely came to a surprise to me. Stupidly I answered yes without even thinking twice. I was told to strip and fresh clothes were given to me, Rebel garments. If i had crossed some friends from the barracks I would have been shot. This all happened two or so days ago, but I haven't gotten any chances to bolt. I’m not sure if I should.
These past few days have been a nightmare. While on patrol with two of my compatriots on the 23rd at around midnight or so, a pack of rebel insurgents sprung from behind a pile of rubble incapacitating me. I suspect the two others didn’t receive that sort of mercy. The next thing I remember was being utterly terrified (Yet I’d never let it show) and I had woken up in a makeshift cell made of chicken wire. It was around noon when I came to. The white walls were drowned in propaganda to support Irish Independence and freedom. Around my cage was a gigantic mess of boxes, crates, ammunition, arms, swords, and all manner of materials that could help the Irish against us. The room was barely recognizable, but through my limited training, I could identify it as the main hall of the Irish General Post Office. The headquarters of the Irish Rebellion.
Only a handful of people occupied the great hall and they all busied themselves with cleaning weapons and checking supplies. Gun shots and cannon fire could be heard quietly in the distance. The British army is finally closing in on the General Post Office, but not fast enough. Two armed men walked in from the main hall. They stopped in front of me and took a seat. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought they were trying to get me to join and fight for the Irish. They talked about their land and how it was unfair that the British took their land and wouldn’t give it back. Really just whining. Then a man with a vanilla folder walked in with my old friend Phillip O’Malley! I hadn’t seen him in ages! He’s far less handsome now. The man sits in a chair next to the little desk in front of my cage and starts speaking. It's odd, he was speaking to me but he didn’t look at me once. “My friend, Phillip, here says he knows you from somewhere, is that true?” “Ye, we lived near each other and went to the same school.” I sternly replied. “He’s Irish alright. We'll see what we can do with him.” They talked as if I wasn’t there. Then the man took his eyes of of the folder and onto me. “Listen here, my name is Tom Clarke. You have been given the liberty to fight for the Irish cause. If you comply with this, in time, you will be freed.” That definitely came to a surprise to me. Stupidly I answered yes without even thinking twice. I was told to strip and fresh clothes were given to me, Rebel garments. If i had crossed some friends from the barracks I would have been shot. This all happened two or so days ago, but I haven't gotten any chances to bolt. I’m not sure if I should.
Authors: Diego Diaz, Oliver Scott, Jeremy Ong