Post by Darko on Oct 16, 2014 14:58:15 GMT
Here's a few bits I wrote for college recently that I inadvertently made related. The first is just a casual bit of homework and the second was a timed (1 hour) practice assessment in creative writing. The first one simply had to end with 'and I knew that was the last time I would see him/her again' and the second was simply titled 'A New Arrival' which I cheated around slightly by not making it the focus of the narrative, instead slipping it in at the end simply to meet the requirements of the task to give myself more creative freedom. Feel free to leave C+C.
----
The day has finally come. I've been dreading it for months. I amble across the crowded platform, tightly grasping my daughter's hand to ensure she isn't swept away in the sea of people desperately struggling to say their goodbyes. This is the largest off-world port in Luna's capital city, and it is conscription day. Our very existence as a species has been threatened and concurrently, the Earthen Senate has demanded one able-bodied adult from every familial unit volunteer themselves for service in the intergalactic military.
Finally I manage to secure a space near the edge of the railings separating the desperate masses from their loved ones destined for the meat grinder. I hesitantly gaze upwards, taking in the expansive star freighter looming overhead. Lonely drops of rain impact upon my face like asteroids upon Luna's surface all those centuries ago prior to its terra-forming, yet I don't mind. It obscures my own tears as the tell-tale signs of a downpour escalate into a deluge.
"Daddy?" I hear from beside myself. I look down into my daughter's uncertain face, wrought with confusion and barely veiled fear. She has no further words to speak, for she is too young to truly comprehend the myriad sights and sounds assailing her from every direction. I pull her closer to myself and activate my holo-brella to protect her from the biting cold of the rain. A sleek slate of light with a blue-grey sheen appears above us, and I feel her cling tighter on my hand.
Despite the overwhelming noise all around me - people crying or shouting final words to departing loved ones, protesters of the war and even the sharp barks of persons in stark military grab - I find myself peculiarly calm. Everything fades out of focus, as if I am viewing the world through a single telescope (the likes of which can only be viewed in museums of ancient artefacts from the long-gone times of the twenty-first century and prior) rapidly spying for one specific face amidst the bustling, chaotic army opposite the thick press of civilians which I am amidst.
My eyes widen and my heart skips a beat as I spot her. I shout her name, scarcely daring to give voice to it lest I never have a chance to say it again to her face. Once she hears my cry, her head snaps around and she hurries over. Though a barrier separates us and our time is scarce, it feels as though this moment will never end and I am glad of that. I desire nothing more than to remain here perpetually. I wish time would freeze so that my family is never apart again.
She looks down into my face with the same warmth which I have grown dearly accustomed to waking up to each morning. Suddenly I realise how lost and empty I have felt without it in the past month since she went to basic training, and I am instantly paralysed by the fear of returning to that depth-less loneliness once she is gone again in but a few short seconds.
Yet she smiles, that brave, undaunted smile she always wears when I fret. Her deep, enchanting emerald eyes seem to speak a thousand reassuring words even as we stand in silence. She kneels down and passes her arms though the railing to embrace our daughter and whisper a final sentiment into her ears. Then she stands and without a pause, pulls me close and our lips touch. I smile as we kiss, my tears running freely and undisguised by rain now. Then just as quickly she pulls away, our hands grasping until finally we are apart once more.
I weep as I watch her rejoin her fellow comrades boarding the bulk freighter, knowing that it would soon be soaring into the stars far above. I look upwards towards Earth - that glorious, mesmerising planetoid which dominates our Lunar sky - and I cast my mind back to bygone history lessons from my childhood. I imagine that I am connected to some long-since deceased souls who shared this same experience as they waved goodbye to their husbands at the onset of the now-legendary second world war three-hundred years ago.
Reopening my eyes, I track the gargantuan transport ship as its engines activate, casting us all in a brilliant light and drowning out all sound. The mammoth vessel heaves itself off the ground and passes through the force-field of the hangar bay to rendezvous with the rest of the fleet. Picking up my daughter and holding her tightly, I point out the swiftly diminishing light in the distance and we solemnly observe as it darts through the darkness. It converges on a collection of lights, and then they all vanish in unison. I recall saying my final farewell to my beloved wife and I know it is the last time I will see her again.
---------------
I sit in the damp trench, a shiver teasing its way up my spine and my grubby hands tightly clutch the dull metal of my laser rifle. Looking around myself, I see the sullen faces of dozens of my comrades-at-arms. I realise with terrible resignation that they have all begun to look exactly the same. The dirt obscuring their features, the forlorn expressions, that empty look in their eyes and the way they all move through the same repetitive motions in order to maintain some semblance of sanity. We’re all simply waiting to die, and I’m no longer even afraid of death. I will gladly welcome anything which relieves me from this hellhole.
Thinking back over the past several months, or at least what passes for months on this god-forsaken rock, my life before this war seems so distant and unreachable, like a half-remembered dream. Now when I try to remember anything remotely pleasant, it is drowned out by the omnipresent stench of death. I can’t even remember what real food tastes like, having subsided only on emergency rations for weeks upon weeks. I’d kill for a nice full-English breakfast. I almost smile at that thought, considering that all I do each and every day is kill people, or wait to kill people. Yet no matter how many lives I snuff out, I am unfortunately certain that I shan’t ever be rewarded with a delicious breakfast upon their expiration.
Suddenly I realise that there has been a change. Something in the air, like a veiled whisper in my ear, alerts me to imminent danger. I swiftly stand up, my weapon held close like a child would hold a teddy bear to ward off the monster under the bed. Others stand too, well-aware of the carnage which will momentarily engulf us as a sea would an unguarded beach. A shout alarms us, though I recognise it as the gruff voice of the Lieutenant.
“Incoming!” He bellows. “Hold the line or die trying!”
If not for that man, I’m certain we all would have perished long ago. It’s as though he thrived on war – nothing remotely daunted him and he ensured we all continued to survive and fight. In many ways, we’re nothing more than simple instruments of murder, akin to the rifle in my hands. We are to him what our guns are to us.
Turning around and sighting down the holographic scope of my advanced weapon, it is impossible to miss the veritable horde of soldiers in bright yellow fatigues stampeding towards our position through the smoke and rubble. How peculiar, I muse, that there was once a vibrant city where I now stand, full of families and everyday mundane things such as paying bills. Now there is only wasteland and death. We might as well be sailing up the river Styx to confront Lucifer ourselves, for I am certain that even there in the mythical underworld I would find more meaning to life than this senseless slaughter.
My finger curls around the trigger of my weapon without hesitation. It has been programmed into me on an instinctive level. A bright flash of light erupts from the barrel of my gun and a searing laser bolt races towards its target. In less time than it takes me to breath, I have murdered a person. It does not stop there. I continue to kill in a methodical process refined by months of unending slaughter.
Someone yells a warning. I fail to decipher the exact words, but the message is clear: take cover. I twist awkwardly and leap into the bottom of the trench. Scant seconds later there is an explosion and my ears are overwhelmed by white noise. I roll onto my back, my hands desperately hunting for my evidently misplaced weapon. Momentarily I panic, unable to find it, however my training kicks in and suppresses the fear.
As I continue to search for my rifle, I realise I’m wet. Taking a brief moment to examine myself, I notice I am drenched in gore from the waist down. Is it my own? No. I assess my surroundings: everyone nearby is dead, shredded by a brutal grenade designed for maximum efficiency. Very little survives them, and the fact that the only remotely whole human being besides myself is missing three of his limbs and half of his head is testament to the grim reputation those fell tools of murder have earned.
My hearing slowly begins to return to me as I unsteadily find my footing once more. I hear the war cries of the enemy growing ever closer and closer and closer until finally they are on top of me. I press myself as tightly against the trench wall and hurriedly unsheathe my combat knife. Dried blood covers the surface of its dulled metal blade, however I know with comforting certainty that its serrated edge is sharp enough to penetrate straight through flesh and bone.
Several hostile troopers jump down into the trench, landing in front of me. My knife is like an extension of my own arm, angled downwards in a vicious arc. I power forward into their midst, and easily disembowel the first one. I twist my blade in his midriff and tear it out in a sideways motion. He collapses weakly to his knees, clutching his stomach in a futile attempt to prevent his guts from spilling onto the ground. The next two whirl like cornered hyenas, their eyes meeting mine. I feel the hatred in their eyes burning into my own.
The nearest one raises his rifle to shoot me however I am far faster and I deftly move out of the way of the shot. I kick down hard on his kneecap and feel it crumple. He yelps and falls forward. Seizing the moment, I spin with the momentum and stretch out my arm. The knife in my hand meets his exposed neck and effortlessly slices through it. Warm blood spurts from his jugular onto my face, blinding me. I blink rapidly to clear the obstruction in my vision, knowing the next few moments decide whether I live or die.
I feel a sharp impact on my face and flail backwards into a rapidly-expanding pool of blood. Finally clearing the human juice out of my eyes, I see that the final hostile soldier in his bright yellow uniform is wielding his rifle as a club. There is a sharp pain in front of me and I assume that my nose must be broken. The impromptu club is brought down again, nearly shattering my skull, but a roll aside at the last second.
Regaining my footing, the other soldier and I now begin to circle each other, sizing one-another up before the dance of death commences anew. We clash. I duck underneath a wide swing and lunge with my blade, but a knee to my gut knocks me off balance. With my spare hand I smash into his throat and he splutters, discombobulated. His grip falls loose and I knock the rifle from his hands. I try to stab him but he seizes my wrist with his powerful hands and squeezes until I cry out in pain. My blade falls limply and he flips me onto my back.
He takes advantage of my predicament and I know this larger man will surely over-power me. He straddles me and strikes my face. His fist is a sledgehammer slamming down on the anvil that is my face, forging a horrific artwork on my features. The pain is excruciating as my already broken nose crumples under the unstoppable force. My arms shoot out in desperation and find their way onto his face. My fingers curl into his eye sockets like talons and scrape inwards and he screams. As he collapses backwards in pain I manage to claw my way to freedom. Standing, I regard him lying there clutching his face as a white-red soup pours down his face.
I know that I could complete what I started – end his life while he is so vulnerable and defenceless. But I feel my body tiring from the exertion and I turn away, leaving him to his fate. He is no threat now and if starvation does not claim him, then the infections that will insidiously fester within his shredded eyes no doubt will. I notice something at my foot as I pace away; the man’s screaming still ringing in my ears. Despite my situation I am intrigued and reach down to pick it up.
It is a communications set. Listening through the headset, I can hear the Lieutenant’s voice. He is barking orders – to retreat.
“Is the battle lost?” I ask without thinking.
“Negative, trooper,” he replies with a hint of excitement in his voice. “Fall back immediately to the nearest command centre. We have a new arrival incoming and you do not want to be around when it hits!”
My eyes widen – both in terror and for the first time in a long time, hope. This is it, it might finally be over. Hauling myself out of the trench I begin to run like the wind. My tired rifle is long since forgotten, for soon I most likely shan’t need it, a likelihood for which I begin to silently rejoice. I flee with all of the haste that I can muster and despite the journey feeling as though it takes an eternity, I manage to return to the last, desperate mustering.
The Lieutenant is here and about three dozen others whom I do not recognise. Casting my eyes back over the shattered battlefield, I sigh and collapse, exasperated. It does not take long for the new arrival to reach us. I observe in the distance as it lands. It is a Leviathan – so named because no other description can possibly be given. It is a towering construct the size of a city and its purpose is to annihilate. Ironically, that machine of death is what will save my life, I am sure.
The screams in the valley below rise to a discordant cacophony as the Leviathan systematically butchers the enemy. It has radiation weaponry which turns flesh to jelly and gargantuan napalm spewing turrets that scorch dozens at a time. Finally I can relax. I lie back and begin to laugh – it is a dry, grating sound, but I laugh nonetheless. The war here is finally over and as I block out the incessant screaming in the distance, I smile and close my eyes. I can remember my life again; my daughter, my husband and even the taste of a full-English breakfast. I have survived and now everything before the war finally feels real again. I can go home.
----
The day has finally come. I've been dreading it for months. I amble across the crowded platform, tightly grasping my daughter's hand to ensure she isn't swept away in the sea of people desperately struggling to say their goodbyes. This is the largest off-world port in Luna's capital city, and it is conscription day. Our very existence as a species has been threatened and concurrently, the Earthen Senate has demanded one able-bodied adult from every familial unit volunteer themselves for service in the intergalactic military.
Finally I manage to secure a space near the edge of the railings separating the desperate masses from their loved ones destined for the meat grinder. I hesitantly gaze upwards, taking in the expansive star freighter looming overhead. Lonely drops of rain impact upon my face like asteroids upon Luna's surface all those centuries ago prior to its terra-forming, yet I don't mind. It obscures my own tears as the tell-tale signs of a downpour escalate into a deluge.
"Daddy?" I hear from beside myself. I look down into my daughter's uncertain face, wrought with confusion and barely veiled fear. She has no further words to speak, for she is too young to truly comprehend the myriad sights and sounds assailing her from every direction. I pull her closer to myself and activate my holo-brella to protect her from the biting cold of the rain. A sleek slate of light with a blue-grey sheen appears above us, and I feel her cling tighter on my hand.
Despite the overwhelming noise all around me - people crying or shouting final words to departing loved ones, protesters of the war and even the sharp barks of persons in stark military grab - I find myself peculiarly calm. Everything fades out of focus, as if I am viewing the world through a single telescope (the likes of which can only be viewed in museums of ancient artefacts from the long-gone times of the twenty-first century and prior) rapidly spying for one specific face amidst the bustling, chaotic army opposite the thick press of civilians which I am amidst.
My eyes widen and my heart skips a beat as I spot her. I shout her name, scarcely daring to give voice to it lest I never have a chance to say it again to her face. Once she hears my cry, her head snaps around and she hurries over. Though a barrier separates us and our time is scarce, it feels as though this moment will never end and I am glad of that. I desire nothing more than to remain here perpetually. I wish time would freeze so that my family is never apart again.
She looks down into my face with the same warmth which I have grown dearly accustomed to waking up to each morning. Suddenly I realise how lost and empty I have felt without it in the past month since she went to basic training, and I am instantly paralysed by the fear of returning to that depth-less loneliness once she is gone again in but a few short seconds.
Yet she smiles, that brave, undaunted smile she always wears when I fret. Her deep, enchanting emerald eyes seem to speak a thousand reassuring words even as we stand in silence. She kneels down and passes her arms though the railing to embrace our daughter and whisper a final sentiment into her ears. Then she stands and without a pause, pulls me close and our lips touch. I smile as we kiss, my tears running freely and undisguised by rain now. Then just as quickly she pulls away, our hands grasping until finally we are apart once more.
I weep as I watch her rejoin her fellow comrades boarding the bulk freighter, knowing that it would soon be soaring into the stars far above. I look upwards towards Earth - that glorious, mesmerising planetoid which dominates our Lunar sky - and I cast my mind back to bygone history lessons from my childhood. I imagine that I am connected to some long-since deceased souls who shared this same experience as they waved goodbye to their husbands at the onset of the now-legendary second world war three-hundred years ago.
Reopening my eyes, I track the gargantuan transport ship as its engines activate, casting us all in a brilliant light and drowning out all sound. The mammoth vessel heaves itself off the ground and passes through the force-field of the hangar bay to rendezvous with the rest of the fleet. Picking up my daughter and holding her tightly, I point out the swiftly diminishing light in the distance and we solemnly observe as it darts through the darkness. It converges on a collection of lights, and then they all vanish in unison. I recall saying my final farewell to my beloved wife and I know it is the last time I will see her again.
---------------
I sit in the damp trench, a shiver teasing its way up my spine and my grubby hands tightly clutch the dull metal of my laser rifle. Looking around myself, I see the sullen faces of dozens of my comrades-at-arms. I realise with terrible resignation that they have all begun to look exactly the same. The dirt obscuring their features, the forlorn expressions, that empty look in their eyes and the way they all move through the same repetitive motions in order to maintain some semblance of sanity. We’re all simply waiting to die, and I’m no longer even afraid of death. I will gladly welcome anything which relieves me from this hellhole.
Thinking back over the past several months, or at least what passes for months on this god-forsaken rock, my life before this war seems so distant and unreachable, like a half-remembered dream. Now when I try to remember anything remotely pleasant, it is drowned out by the omnipresent stench of death. I can’t even remember what real food tastes like, having subsided only on emergency rations for weeks upon weeks. I’d kill for a nice full-English breakfast. I almost smile at that thought, considering that all I do each and every day is kill people, or wait to kill people. Yet no matter how many lives I snuff out, I am unfortunately certain that I shan’t ever be rewarded with a delicious breakfast upon their expiration.
Suddenly I realise that there has been a change. Something in the air, like a veiled whisper in my ear, alerts me to imminent danger. I swiftly stand up, my weapon held close like a child would hold a teddy bear to ward off the monster under the bed. Others stand too, well-aware of the carnage which will momentarily engulf us as a sea would an unguarded beach. A shout alarms us, though I recognise it as the gruff voice of the Lieutenant.
“Incoming!” He bellows. “Hold the line or die trying!”
If not for that man, I’m certain we all would have perished long ago. It’s as though he thrived on war – nothing remotely daunted him and he ensured we all continued to survive and fight. In many ways, we’re nothing more than simple instruments of murder, akin to the rifle in my hands. We are to him what our guns are to us.
Turning around and sighting down the holographic scope of my advanced weapon, it is impossible to miss the veritable horde of soldiers in bright yellow fatigues stampeding towards our position through the smoke and rubble. How peculiar, I muse, that there was once a vibrant city where I now stand, full of families and everyday mundane things such as paying bills. Now there is only wasteland and death. We might as well be sailing up the river Styx to confront Lucifer ourselves, for I am certain that even there in the mythical underworld I would find more meaning to life than this senseless slaughter.
My finger curls around the trigger of my weapon without hesitation. It has been programmed into me on an instinctive level. A bright flash of light erupts from the barrel of my gun and a searing laser bolt races towards its target. In less time than it takes me to breath, I have murdered a person. It does not stop there. I continue to kill in a methodical process refined by months of unending slaughter.
Someone yells a warning. I fail to decipher the exact words, but the message is clear: take cover. I twist awkwardly and leap into the bottom of the trench. Scant seconds later there is an explosion and my ears are overwhelmed by white noise. I roll onto my back, my hands desperately hunting for my evidently misplaced weapon. Momentarily I panic, unable to find it, however my training kicks in and suppresses the fear.
As I continue to search for my rifle, I realise I’m wet. Taking a brief moment to examine myself, I notice I am drenched in gore from the waist down. Is it my own? No. I assess my surroundings: everyone nearby is dead, shredded by a brutal grenade designed for maximum efficiency. Very little survives them, and the fact that the only remotely whole human being besides myself is missing three of his limbs and half of his head is testament to the grim reputation those fell tools of murder have earned.
My hearing slowly begins to return to me as I unsteadily find my footing once more. I hear the war cries of the enemy growing ever closer and closer and closer until finally they are on top of me. I press myself as tightly against the trench wall and hurriedly unsheathe my combat knife. Dried blood covers the surface of its dulled metal blade, however I know with comforting certainty that its serrated edge is sharp enough to penetrate straight through flesh and bone.
Several hostile troopers jump down into the trench, landing in front of me. My knife is like an extension of my own arm, angled downwards in a vicious arc. I power forward into their midst, and easily disembowel the first one. I twist my blade in his midriff and tear it out in a sideways motion. He collapses weakly to his knees, clutching his stomach in a futile attempt to prevent his guts from spilling onto the ground. The next two whirl like cornered hyenas, their eyes meeting mine. I feel the hatred in their eyes burning into my own.
The nearest one raises his rifle to shoot me however I am far faster and I deftly move out of the way of the shot. I kick down hard on his kneecap and feel it crumple. He yelps and falls forward. Seizing the moment, I spin with the momentum and stretch out my arm. The knife in my hand meets his exposed neck and effortlessly slices through it. Warm blood spurts from his jugular onto my face, blinding me. I blink rapidly to clear the obstruction in my vision, knowing the next few moments decide whether I live or die.
I feel a sharp impact on my face and flail backwards into a rapidly-expanding pool of blood. Finally clearing the human juice out of my eyes, I see that the final hostile soldier in his bright yellow uniform is wielding his rifle as a club. There is a sharp pain in front of me and I assume that my nose must be broken. The impromptu club is brought down again, nearly shattering my skull, but a roll aside at the last second.
Regaining my footing, the other soldier and I now begin to circle each other, sizing one-another up before the dance of death commences anew. We clash. I duck underneath a wide swing and lunge with my blade, but a knee to my gut knocks me off balance. With my spare hand I smash into his throat and he splutters, discombobulated. His grip falls loose and I knock the rifle from his hands. I try to stab him but he seizes my wrist with his powerful hands and squeezes until I cry out in pain. My blade falls limply and he flips me onto my back.
He takes advantage of my predicament and I know this larger man will surely over-power me. He straddles me and strikes my face. His fist is a sledgehammer slamming down on the anvil that is my face, forging a horrific artwork on my features. The pain is excruciating as my already broken nose crumples under the unstoppable force. My arms shoot out in desperation and find their way onto his face. My fingers curl into his eye sockets like talons and scrape inwards and he screams. As he collapses backwards in pain I manage to claw my way to freedom. Standing, I regard him lying there clutching his face as a white-red soup pours down his face.
I know that I could complete what I started – end his life while he is so vulnerable and defenceless. But I feel my body tiring from the exertion and I turn away, leaving him to his fate. He is no threat now and if starvation does not claim him, then the infections that will insidiously fester within his shredded eyes no doubt will. I notice something at my foot as I pace away; the man’s screaming still ringing in my ears. Despite my situation I am intrigued and reach down to pick it up.
It is a communications set. Listening through the headset, I can hear the Lieutenant’s voice. He is barking orders – to retreat.
“Is the battle lost?” I ask without thinking.
“Negative, trooper,” he replies with a hint of excitement in his voice. “Fall back immediately to the nearest command centre. We have a new arrival incoming and you do not want to be around when it hits!”
My eyes widen – both in terror and for the first time in a long time, hope. This is it, it might finally be over. Hauling myself out of the trench I begin to run like the wind. My tired rifle is long since forgotten, for soon I most likely shan’t need it, a likelihood for which I begin to silently rejoice. I flee with all of the haste that I can muster and despite the journey feeling as though it takes an eternity, I manage to return to the last, desperate mustering.
The Lieutenant is here and about three dozen others whom I do not recognise. Casting my eyes back over the shattered battlefield, I sigh and collapse, exasperated. It does not take long for the new arrival to reach us. I observe in the distance as it lands. It is a Leviathan – so named because no other description can possibly be given. It is a towering construct the size of a city and its purpose is to annihilate. Ironically, that machine of death is what will save my life, I am sure.
The screams in the valley below rise to a discordant cacophony as the Leviathan systematically butchers the enemy. It has radiation weaponry which turns flesh to jelly and gargantuan napalm spewing turrets that scorch dozens at a time. Finally I can relax. I lie back and begin to laugh – it is a dry, grating sound, but I laugh nonetheless. The war here is finally over and as I block out the incessant screaming in the distance, I smile and close my eyes. I can remember my life again; my daughter, my husband and even the taste of a full-English breakfast. I have survived and now everything before the war finally feels real again. I can go home.