Focus
Title: Focus
Author: alex_kade
Rating: PG
Genre: drama?
Setting: pre-comic/movie
Summary: Inner thoughts of a wounded soldier...
Note: Holy sweet baby Jesus holding a chocolate bar! I wrote a drabble! A real one! *dances around excitedly* (I have a really bad tendency to start things off with the intentions of making them drabbles...and then they turn into 3k+ stories...) Lol :)
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God, he hurt; but then, so did the others, and they weren't complaining. He wouldn't complain, either. He'd stay alert, keep moving, watch his own back, protect his family, just like the others did. That flare he felt each time he put his foot down? Nonexistent. That burning sensation stretching across his back? Imaginary. That tingling numbness in his fingers? Fictitious. That stabbing pain in his side? Pure fallacy. Right now, at this moment, with the enemy at their backs and only the thin hope that salvation lie ahead, he was fine. He had to be. Because right now he wasn't some clueless kid playing soldier on a video game, anymore. He had become that soldier - a living replica of his own avatar, a Special Ops technician - and lives depended on him being fine. When this was over, when they got out, all of them, alive; then he could hurt. But only then. In the meantime, his only need was to focus on the current mission: Survive.
Author: alex_kade
Rating: PG
Genre: drama?
Setting: pre-comic/movie
Summary: Inner thoughts of a wounded soldier...
Note: Holy sweet baby Jesus holding a chocolate bar! I wrote a drabble! A real one! *dances around excitedly* (I have a really bad tendency to start things off with the intentions of making them drabbles...and then they turn into 3k+ stories...) Lol :)
************************************
God, he hurt; but then, so did the others, and they weren't complaining. He wouldn't complain, either. He'd stay alert, keep moving, watch his own back, protect his family, just like the others did. That flare he felt each time he put his foot down? Nonexistent. That burning sensation stretching across his back? Imaginary. That tingling numbness in his fingers? Fictitious. That stabbing pain in his side? Pure fallacy. Right now, at this moment, with the enemy at their backs and only the thin hope that salvation lie ahead, he was fine. He had to be. Because right now he wasn't some clueless kid playing soldier on a video game, anymore. He had become that soldier - a living replica of his own avatar, a Special Ops technician - and lives depended on him being fine. When this was over, when they got out, all of them, alive; then he could hurt. But only then. In the meantime, his only need was to focus on the current mission: Survive.