Author: Inkspilled PM
A collection of short stories, intros and unfinished work. a scrapbook/journal/compilation of bits i don't feel are important enough. My entropy collection.Rated: Fiction T - English - Chapters: 6 - Words: 2,018 - Reviews: 8 - Updated: 12-19-11 - Published: 10-16-10 - id: 2856401
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
October 16th, 2010
The cloaked man stepped out onto his doorstep, taking a lighter from his pocket. Pulling out a cigar, he lights it and begins smoking as a quiet fall rain starts. The misty grey evening darkened in the falling tears of the sky, leaving his burning cigar the only nearby source of light, if any. From across the street she watched cautiously. No shelter from the rain but the small edging to the rooftop above her head. She half crouched, almost as if ready to run. Feeling the burning in the muscles of her legs begin, she shifted her position. A second, a moment of distilled wait, then the man stepped out of the protection of his porch, and began to walk turning left on the sidewalk.
As soon as he is gone, the girl runs to the white oak door, cracked and fading with age. She shivers as the cold of the evening rain seeps through her clothes. She stands in the cover for a moment, shifting her feet about and watching the puddles of water her faded shoes leave behind. After a second of silence, filled with only the gentle sound of rain, she tries the doorknob. It's smooth and heavy brass, coarse with age and in need of oil, she twists open the door with a little push. The hollow oak floors are strong beneath her feet, she listens for a sign of life, already knowing that it's empty. It was her house, after all. She heads first for the kitchen, rummaging for a taste of the long-forgotten food she had missed.
On the battlefield it's carnage as the chlorine gas and mines take out overconfident men, sending fear like shooting electricity down the spines of the other men. They are exhausted, dying and diseased. The nearby makeshift hospital full of pain and unending nightmares as broken nurses and doctors go about their best, holding up the strongest front they can. They know that it doesn't matter if they win or not. It is almost in vain that these young men run out into fields of bullets, only to return to their former lives of imprisonment and stolen freedom. But yet, what choice did they have?
Watching their so-called leaders was like watching two young foolish children fighting for toys. It was to no avail, there would be no better country, no matter how many times they promised. A young nurse was bandaging a wound to a man's arm. One of the luckiest today.