Marine.... by MasterSushi
|
Marine.... Part 1: Empty
Date: 23 November 2004, 7:15 PM
Author's note
To be honest I don't know whether I'm going to carry on this series, so I'd love any feedback at all. Sorry if this seems a little blunt on the action side its more of a scene setter.
Staff Sergeant Timber, walked down the dark street. Dark it may have been but still it was homely. Despite the winter cold and the bitterness in its frost, it felt warm. It was Christmas and it had come fast. Lights flashed on either side of him, blinking like eyes, following him down the streets. There were children up ahead, he could hear them playing, talking, arguing and singing. What were they doing? Making snowmen? Yes, that was what they were doing. Snowmen. Timber smiled. It was good to be home. No, it was great to be home.
"Hey are you a Marine?" The kids ran towards him, the whole group of them 'snapping at his heels'. He chuckled to himself.
"Yes." he answered,
"Did you kill lots of aliens, mister? I want to a be a Marine when I'm older!"
"So do I!" said a second kid,
"Me too!" said a third.
The kids ran off, shooting imaginary guns and playing dead. That had once been him. Playing those games. But he hadn't wanted to be a Marine, no, he had wanted to be an explorer. Did he want to be an explorer now? No. A Marine he was and a Marine he would stay. He couldn't imagine being anything else. He thought of his own seven year old son. Waiting with Timber's beautiful wife at home. Timber turned the corner and carried on his journey.
Timber glanced at his house. The lights were off. Strange. He made his way to the path and up a step or two to the front door. There was a wreath on the door, it was crude and messy but that made Timber even happier to be home. It had been made by his son. Peter.
He clenched a fist and rapped on the door. No answer. Another knock. He waited but still no answer. Timber pulled a group of assorted keys from a pouch on his trousers and found the correct one. He pushed in the key and turned it. He tried to push open the door but there was something blocking it. Which meant there was something wrong. Seriously wrong. He kicked the door. He kicked it once, then twice, then three times until it split. He shoved his shoulder into the split and pushed hard. Eventually he tumbled through a significant hole in the door and was on the other side.
He composed himself and looked around. Stepping further into the hall he heard something crunch underfoot. There was glass littering the floor. That was why the lights were off. They had been shattered. Shot? Maybe. A lot of the stuff in his house had been broken. He took a small torch from another pouch and shone it around his rooms. His son, his wife, where were they? He scrabbled around in the dark occasionally calling his wife's name. Mary, Mary.
Upstairs in his guest room he found something. There were candles. Only a few, on a table by the bed. In the centre, there was a piece of paper. What was on it? He fumbled in the dark, his fingers were cold and his head was a mess.
If you want to see your wife and son again, find us. Go outside at midnight tonight. That shouldn't be to long after you read this. You'll find us.
A cowardly ransom note.
"WHERE ARE YOU!" he cried out. He could feel it now. The anger oozing through his blood stream, burning like hellfire in his chest. What do you want with me? he thought. He sat on the bed, his head in his arms. And cried. He would cry until the clock beeped twelve. Then he would go. Then he would hunt these people. The people that have what he most desires. What he can't live without. Of all the battles he had fought, of all the conflicts he had seen his men die in, this was quite possibly the worst. He didn't know whether his family were alive or dead, whether his wife was being treated well or was being beaten or raped, even. He knew who had them though. He knew they wanted to see him. He'd need a weapon. He wanted to reach out and hug his wife, his wonderful wife.
But he couldn't.
And he was alone.
And he was cold.
And he was empty.
|
