[Stargate: Drabble] "Forever Nineteen" [SG-22, G]
Title: Forever Nineteen
Prompt: writerverse challenge #06 do the shuffle
Song: “The Green Fields of France” (by Dropkick Murpheys)
Word Count: 182
Rating: G
Fandom or Original: Stargate SG-1 ( SG-22, original characters)
Summary: Gryff goes for a run after a mission gone bad.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Forever Nineteen
Gryff slowed to a walk as the trees faded to more open space. She had never run this far before, had never needed to burn off as much frustration while she was still physically able to run, and as she drew nearer, she saw that it wasn’t a field, but a cemetery, an old one, tucked back into the woods.
Breathing hard, she stopped at a weathered tombstone, then sank to sit beside it. “You don’t mind, do you?” she asked, half-joking, then looked closer at the grave.
Willy McBride, it said. Died in 1916, and he’d only been nineteen, died in World War One. He’d been a soldier, then, even if he was just a kid.
Like Sergeant McLean, the Marine they’d lost on P3X-445. He’d turned twenty the month before- he’d mentioned it on the walk to the village- not even old enough to drink in the States, but old enough to die on an alien planet.
Gryff took a shaky breath and used the gravestone to push herself back to her feet. She hadn’t run quite far enough, yet.
THE END
Current Mood:
blah
Prompt: writerverse challenge #06 do the shuffle
Song: “The Green Fields of France” (by Dropkick Murpheys)
Word Count: 182
Rating: G
Fandom or Original: Stargate SG-1 ( SG-22, original characters)
Summary: Gryff goes for a run after a mission gone bad.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Forever Nineteen
Gryff slowed to a walk as the trees faded to more open space. She had never run this far before, had never needed to burn off as much frustration while she was still physically able to run, and as she drew nearer, she saw that it wasn’t a field, but a cemetery, an old one, tucked back into the woods.
Breathing hard, she stopped at a weathered tombstone, then sank to sit beside it. “You don’t mind, do you?” she asked, half-joking, then looked closer at the grave.
Willy McBride, it said. Died in 1916, and he’d only been nineteen, died in World War One. He’d been a soldier, then, even if he was just a kid.
Like Sergeant McLean, the Marine they’d lost on P3X-445. He’d turned twenty the month before- he’d mentioned it on the walk to the village- not even old enough to drink in the States, but old enough to die on an alien planet.
Gryff took a shaky breath and used the gravestone to push herself back to her feet. She hadn’t run quite far enough, yet.
THE END
Current Mood:
blah