Brigit's Flame, September, week #2
Title: Into Forever
Author: keppiehed
Rating: R
Warnings: language, adult situations
Word Count: 644
Prompt: “The Journey Doesn't End Here”
A/N: Written for week #2 at brigits_flame. I am excited to be an a monthlong side challenge with the fantastic and talented 1onewon and firesign10, in which we start our stories with each other's last lines. So this begins firesign10's challenge for week #3. I would like to take this opportunity to bitch about the degree of difficulty that my first line presented me with, and I am shaking a mental fist at that sly devil 1onewon for his impish trickery! Wah! *cries and complains and basically plays myself a tiny violin of sympathy* But I loved it, and it was great fun to attempt all these writing shenanigans. Yay!
“We are the lunatics, invisible until you teach yourself how to look.” Dave leaned on his shovel and took a cigarette from his pocket. “Benny used to say that. I think he was right.”
“You crazy? You know that's not allowed!” I hissed.
Dave inhaled without looking at me. “You want one? I got a whole pack.”
“No. What's gotten into you?” I waved away the smoke, but no one was watching. There must be a funeral about to begin.
“You're not listening, Brother. When did you stop listening to the truth?”
I gripped the shovel. “I'm listening, Dave. We're lunatics. I got it.”
Dave blew another stream of smoke into the crisp morning air. “No, the point is that we're invisible. Mostly. Until you learn to see. Then you can't stop seeing us. Benny knew it. He was always yammering on about this kind of shit, but we never listened to him, you know? We should have listened.”
“Well, we were kind of busy not getting killed and all,” I said. “And listening to the CO. That son of a bitch was loud. Had a set of lungs like a bullhorn, remember?”
Dave stared into the distance. “It wasn't like that.”
“It was,” I said. “I don't blame you for trying to forget it. Are you going to help or what?”
Dave frowned. “God, I hate this assignment.” He let the shovel fall to the ground and picked up the tamper instead.
“Could be worse,” I said.
He shrugged.
“It could always be worse.” I evened up the hole and wiped the sweat from my brow. This was hot work, even this early in the morning, but it beat having to present arms in front of the civilians. I didn't like that at all. They always cried, which reminded me of Rebecca, the last time I'd seen her, and I didn't want to think about that. “Okay, match the number. Plot 4221. Urn 4221. Witness.”
“Witnessed.” Dave said. He didn't bother double checking the numbers anymore. I moved onto the next space and he began tamping plot 4221.
A rifle report echoed over the hills. I straightened, ignoring the kink in my back. My hand jerked by reflex to my brow in a sharp salute and I sensed rather than saw Dave doing the same. We remained at attention through the following volleys and until the last notes of Taps faded.
The rows of headstones stretched out in front of us, the precision of the markers an aberration in the tranquility of the otherwise natural landscape. When I'd first seen it, I'd been humbled by the sheer multitudes. There was both horror and comfort in seeing so many of my fallen brethren in one place. Some had died in the line of duty while others had come back years later to rest here in honor. After awhile I numbed to the sight of the dress whites folding the flag and hearing the bugle's mournful call. Soon I only saw the headstones, one after another, stretching into eternity. Mine would line the path one day, too, but the thought didn't bring the shiver it once had. I was dulled to anything but my unending labor.
The flick of the lighter broke my reverie and a prickle of annoyance crawled under my skin as I watched Dave light another cigarette. “C'mon. We're behind schedule. You don't have time for that,” I said.
“Who cares?” Dave asked and sucked in a lungful of smoke. “Benny used to say-”
“Benny's dead.” I said. “Someone like us buried him, right over there in row three. We're burying someone just like him right now. We might be invisible, but there's work to do. So pick up that shovel, shut up and haul dirt until fucking Taps again, will you?”
We worked in silence then, adding rows together into forever.
Author: keppiehed
Rating: R
Warnings: language, adult situations
Word Count: 644
Prompt: “The Journey Doesn't End Here”
A/N: Written for week #2 at brigits_flame. I am excited to be an a monthlong side challenge with the fantastic and talented 1onewon and firesign10, in which we start our stories with each other's last lines. So this begins firesign10's challenge for week #3. I would like to take this opportunity to bitch about the degree of difficulty that my first line presented me with, and I am shaking a mental fist at that sly devil 1onewon for his impish trickery! Wah! *cries and complains and basically plays myself a tiny violin of sympathy* But I loved it, and it was great fun to attempt all these writing shenanigans. Yay!
“We are the lunatics, invisible until you teach yourself how to look.” Dave leaned on his shovel and took a cigarette from his pocket. “Benny used to say that. I think he was right.”
“You crazy? You know that's not allowed!” I hissed.
Dave inhaled without looking at me. “You want one? I got a whole pack.”
“No. What's gotten into you?” I waved away the smoke, but no one was watching. There must be a funeral about to begin.
“You're not listening, Brother. When did you stop listening to the truth?”
I gripped the shovel. “I'm listening, Dave. We're lunatics. I got it.”
Dave blew another stream of smoke into the crisp morning air. “No, the point is that we're invisible. Mostly. Until you learn to see. Then you can't stop seeing us. Benny knew it. He was always yammering on about this kind of shit, but we never listened to him, you know? We should have listened.”
“Well, we were kind of busy not getting killed and all,” I said. “And listening to the CO. That son of a bitch was loud. Had a set of lungs like a bullhorn, remember?”
Dave stared into the distance. “It wasn't like that.”
“It was,” I said. “I don't blame you for trying to forget it. Are you going to help or what?”
Dave frowned. “God, I hate this assignment.” He let the shovel fall to the ground and picked up the tamper instead.
“Could be worse,” I said.
He shrugged.
“It could always be worse.” I evened up the hole and wiped the sweat from my brow. This was hot work, even this early in the morning, but it beat having to present arms in front of the civilians. I didn't like that at all. They always cried, which reminded me of Rebecca, the last time I'd seen her, and I didn't want to think about that. “Okay, match the number. Plot 4221. Urn 4221. Witness.”
“Witnessed.” Dave said. He didn't bother double checking the numbers anymore. I moved onto the next space and he began tamping plot 4221.
A rifle report echoed over the hills. I straightened, ignoring the kink in my back. My hand jerked by reflex to my brow in a sharp salute and I sensed rather than saw Dave doing the same. We remained at attention through the following volleys and until the last notes of Taps faded.
The rows of headstones stretched out in front of us, the precision of the markers an aberration in the tranquility of the otherwise natural landscape. When I'd first seen it, I'd been humbled by the sheer multitudes. There was both horror and comfort in seeing so many of my fallen brethren in one place. Some had died in the line of duty while others had come back years later to rest here in honor. After awhile I numbed to the sight of the dress whites folding the flag and hearing the bugle's mournful call. Soon I only saw the headstones, one after another, stretching into eternity. Mine would line the path one day, too, but the thought didn't bring the shiver it once had. I was dulled to anything but my unending labor.
The flick of the lighter broke my reverie and a prickle of annoyance crawled under my skin as I watched Dave light another cigarette. “C'mon. We're behind schedule. You don't have time for that,” I said.
“Who cares?” Dave asked and sucked in a lungful of smoke. “Benny used to say-”
“Benny's dead.” I said. “Someone like us buried him, right over there in row three. We're burying someone just like him right now. We might be invisible, but there's work to do. So pick up that shovel, shut up and haul dirt until fucking Taps again, will you?”
We worked in silence then, adding rows together into forever.