Dark Frontier: Eagle
anonymous
August 27 2009, 17:25:12 UTC
America was dreaming the Dream again. He hated the Dream. He could not be happy in the Dream, he could not be carefree or optimistic. The Dream gave him nothing to be happy about. For all his strength and his can-do attitude he was powerless to change what the Dream showed him. America would have face the Dream head on, like always.
He could do that.
He was on the frontier. Just where exactly he was not sure; somewhere on the Great Plains. Behind him was a typical frontier town: horses and people moved around wagons while children ran underfoot. Supply stores on both sides of the street advertised their goods while women packed up their belongings for the long trek west. No one seemed to notice America standing on the outskirts of the town. In front of him was the vast and unsettled lands as far as the eye could see. The sun was setting in the distance, its yellow and orange hues slowly giving way to the black night and twinkling stars.
But the sun never set in his dream, and the town never went to sleep either. The eternal dusk on the dark frontier was the ever present part of the Dream. As was his finding himself between the lively and safe town and the frontier. America was aware that he had a pack on his back, a shotgun in one hand and his hat in the other. He set the hat on his head and began walking away from the town, never looking back.
America always moved forward.
The plains were devoid of life. Nothing, not even the wind, moved or made a sound. The eerie quiet was almost too much for America to stand so he began whistling Yankee Doodle.
A screech behind him and something slammed into America’s head before he could turn around, knocking his hat off. Something flew past him in the not-quite-night sky and disappeared into the sun. America rubbed his head where the thing had struck him and squinted to look for his attacker.
The Bald Eagle soared in straight out of the sun and struck his face. Talons ripped into his skin, knocking of his glasses and drawing blood. America cried out in pain and struck out into the air to hit his attacker but the bird had already flown up high into the air. Cursing, he pulled up his gun and aimed - at nothing really, he couldn’t see where it had flown thanks to the darkness. Oh wait, there it was.
Circling overhead, acting more like a buzzard than anything else, The Bald Eagle glared at him with fierce yellow eyes reflecting the small amount of sunlight left. No, not sunlight. Bombs…
He was with Vietnam trying to comfort her while his bombers annihilated villages and rice fields. She was crying, bitter tears on her confused face. “I don’t understand! Why did you…” words failed her and she burst back into tears.
America put his arm around her awkwardly, “Hey, cheer up!” he said with cheeriness even he knew was fake. “At least the Communist are gone!” He didn’t understand the expression on Vietnam’s face when she looked back up at him, revulsion or horror maybe.
“The Communist? Is that all you care about?” she shrieked. moving away from him. “What about my people? What about our need? You promised us better lives but all you’ve given me is this!” she waved her arm at the torched hamlet they had been standing in front of.
“This is taking longer than I thought, okay!” America snapped back, “Look, just give me some time and I promise -”
“Promise, promise, promise! That’s all I ever hear from you! Yet not one promise has been kept!”
She ran away after that, someplace America couldn’t find. When she returned she said little to him. Her eyes, once sad, stared at him with frustration from then on out though. Frustration became anger and the anger in her eyes began looking more and more like outright hatred. America ignored it, figuring it was just one of those woman things. He had more important things to worry about than Vietnam’s feelings.
Then, one day, he had caught himself among the enemy. The firefight lasted only five minutes, three on one but he was America and he could not be beat. There was just one left, and they ran into each other completely by accident. They scuffled and America knocked off the hat that Vietnam’s people liked to wear - and found Vietnam herself underneath.
He could do that.
He was on the frontier. Just where exactly he was not sure; somewhere on the Great Plains. Behind him was a typical frontier town: horses and people moved around wagons while children ran underfoot. Supply stores on both sides of the street advertised their goods while women packed up their belongings for the long trek west. No one seemed to notice America standing on the outskirts of the town. In front of him was the vast and unsettled lands as far as the eye could see. The sun was setting in the distance, its yellow and orange hues slowly giving way to the black night and twinkling stars.
But the sun never set in his dream, and the town never went to sleep either. The eternal dusk on the dark frontier was the ever present part of the Dream. As was his finding himself between the lively and safe town and the frontier. America was aware that he had a pack on his back, a shotgun in one hand and his hat in the other. He set the hat on his head and began walking away from the town, never looking back.
America always moved forward.
The plains were devoid of life. Nothing, not even the wind, moved or made a sound. The eerie quiet was almost too much for America to stand so he began whistling Yankee Doodle.
A screech behind him and something slammed into America’s head before he could turn around, knocking his hat off. Something flew past him in the not-quite-night sky and disappeared into the sun. America rubbed his head where the thing had struck him and squinted to look for his attacker.
The Bald Eagle soared in straight out of the sun and struck his face. Talons ripped into his skin, knocking of his glasses and drawing blood. America cried out in pain and struck out into the air to hit his attacker but the bird had already flown up high into the air. Cursing, he pulled up his gun and aimed - at nothing really, he couldn’t see where it had flown thanks to the darkness. Oh wait, there it was.
Circling overhead, acting more like a buzzard than anything else, The Bald Eagle glared at him with fierce yellow eyes reflecting the small amount of sunlight left. No, not sunlight. Bombs…
He was with Vietnam trying to comfort her while his bombers annihilated villages and rice fields. She was crying, bitter tears on her confused face.
“I don’t understand! Why did you…” words failed her and she burst back into tears.
America put his arm around her awkwardly, “Hey, cheer up!” he said with cheeriness even he knew was fake. “At least the Communist are gone!”
He didn’t understand the expression on Vietnam’s face when she looked back up at him, revulsion or horror maybe.
“The Communist? Is that all you care about?” she shrieked. moving away from him. “What about my people? What about our need? You promised us better lives but all you’ve given me is this!” she waved her arm at the torched hamlet they had been standing in front of.
“This is taking longer than I thought, okay!” America snapped back, “Look, just give me some time and I promise -”
“Promise, promise, promise! That’s all I ever hear from you! Yet not one promise has been kept!”
She ran away after that, someplace America couldn’t find. When she returned she said little to him. Her eyes, once sad, stared at him with frustration from then on out though. Frustration became anger and the anger in her eyes began looking more and more like outright hatred. America ignored it, figuring it was just one of those woman things. He had more important things to worry about than Vietnam’s feelings.
Then, one day, he had caught himself among the enemy. The firefight lasted only five minutes, three on one but he was America and he could not be beat. There was just one left, and they ran into each other completely by accident. They scuffled and America knocked off the hat that Vietnam’s people liked to wear - and found Vietnam herself underneath.
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I loved how you introduced the animal. thank you!
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