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Nirvana
Posted By: Alice T.PQ<axedude_00@hotmail.com>
Date: 31 December 2005, 6:01 am
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Authors Note: Now I know there's not a trickle of a story to be found in here, but I think it's a nice little recount of a marines' last moments. This could be at the Fall of Reach or somewhere on Earth during the invasion or really just a recount of a dream some drunk guy had in the pub down the road. (I could wink here and cause doubt and suspicion to run riot, but I wont.) Whatever. I think it's a charming little tale and one that you will enjoy reading.
"Recon, this is attack group Charlie 04-"
The ground trembles beneath us. Gunfire crackles throughout the building. Covenant plasma fire melts the walls and fills the rooms with thick, toxic smoke. Blood rains as much as grit, and there is plenty of that to be found. Corporal Williams huddles at her table in the corner, desperately trying to hear the radio message. But the din is too furious.
"I… I can't hear you!" she screams into the microphone. "Say again recon! I cannot hear-"
A flash of light bursts through the window on the opposite side of the room. I hear the corporal gasp, trying to hold on. But then, like everyone else before her, she exhales in defeat.
I know what has happened even before my eyes snap to where she had been. All that is left is a corpse slumping onto the table, its head cleanly shot through by a trail of pink light that still lingers in the air. I had been conditioned to believe that corpses weren't the people we thought they were anymore; that they were just sacks of meat. Now I count the horrific brainwashing as a blessing.
I look down at my own mangled body. I took a hit in my left shoulder and another in my ribs. The wounds are seeping with blue bio-foam, and god it hurts. But it's better than having my flesh slowly dropping away in sticky, flaky chunks. That's what happened to Kester over there. Although I guess a face is a worse place to get hit than an arm.
A shadow fills the doorway. I look up and wince, blinded by a bright flashlight. Voices holler to me and even over so short a distance I have to strain to hear.
"Marine! Where is your commanding officer?"
I chuckle. Bad idea. A harsh, racking cough blinds me once more, except this time with pain. I hunch over, vomiting blood all over the tattered fabric on my legs. It's disgusting.
I feel a hand on my back, comforting and warm. I bring the coughing under control and look up.
"What happened, private?"
Her face stuns me for a moment too long. She is dirty, bloody and worn out… but she is still beautiful. Beauty like that does not belong in the battlefield. Those sparkling green eyes should not have to see what the rest of us do, and her full, red lips should not have to utter the things the rest of us must.
She stares back at me in a curious way. A thought caresses my mind, but I instantly shove it away. Now is not the time.
"Move out of the way, lieutenant!" a rough voice roars. The vision is swept aside and replaced by the scarred and grizzly mug of a man too tired for bullshit.
"Where the hell is sergeant Year?" he growls.
I stare back at him defiantly. He thinks he's had enough shit today?
I might not have an arm tomorrow.
Unfortunately, treason would still be treason, and talking back to an officer - or headbutting his face in - is counted as that. And just like the primitive ages back on Earth, treason was hated almost as much as the enemy and punished as such.
I cock my head to the left to where the body of Corporal Wilkins was. It had now slid off the table and landed its head on the lap of another corpse. The hair plastered to the dead man's forehead is separated by a big black hole, and on the wall behind him blooms a flower of dark, chunky red.
A pistol lies in his hand at his side, testiment to his desperation. I swallow the memory and try to think of Year as the brave and valiant man he had once been. But his final moments huddling in the corner, crying out for his mother, and the moment after he pulled the trigger when his eyes went wide with sudden regret could not be beat down.
The man in front of me is silent. I don't know wether it is pity, remorse or anger, but he shakes. His hands ball into fists and he shoots up, slamming them into the wall above me. He roars a roar of unidentifiable emotion and then turns away from me, shouting at the others. I can't hear his words; they are too loud. The sounds merely mix in with the rest of the din and throb against my already ragged eardrums. The man storms out of the room, and that is the last I see of him. The others that accompanied him slowly turn away from me and head out the door. I feel neither fear nor sadness nor fury at being a pawn that has been simply tossed away. I just feel as I always have.
Empty.
The vision pauses in the doorway and spares a glance at me over her shoulder. A deep, unfathomable look fills her eyes as she gazes at me. And then, just like that, she is gone.
The coldness that has been slowly creeping up my legs reaches my waist. I manage a pain-racked sigh and turn my head to the window. Red light seeps in as dawn breaks over the ruined city beyond. I know it is not a natural dawn. The sun doesn't bloom like that. I feel the heat and the rushing wind, and hear the deathly silence all around me as the warring sides pause to stare at the mushroom that slowly ascends towards the darkened heavens.
As the screams start I close my eyes. In my mind I can see the fire rushing towards me, engulfing all in its wake. The air is filled with the thunder of a thousand feet desperately trying to flee, and a million voices crying for help, God or eachother. This is not how it should be. We should be facing this final fate with honour and open arms.
It's too late not to, anyway.
A sharp, agonizing pain in my side becomes a trickle of warmth that caresses my cheek, and I can't help but smile. I open my eyes and there she is, sitting next to me. She strokes my cheek with care only a life-long lover can. I loose myself in those deep green eyes that beam at me with sadness, happiness and longing all at once. Too soon she closes them and rests her head on my shoulder, drifting off into whatever world makes her happiest. I rest my head against hers and gaze out the window, welcoming the inferno with a grin.
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