Short Stories
First and Last
The floor was filthy, the atmosphere was fierce; the morning sun just peeking into the window across from me, blinding everyone sitting in the stands, including me; nobody cared. The yelling from down on the ground, the weeping from every direction; I couldn't get away from it. The anger, the frustration, the impenetrable sadness flowed through my eyes, down my cheek. Why does the army do this to us? My father was being taken away from me, for a year in a desert war zone. My face was red with grief.
I wanted to run down onto the shined floor, scream at the Platoon Sargent, grab my father and run, just run. I could feel my fee already moving, my arm gripping the sear, my voice ready for the brutal attack. My imagination took over, my vision blackened as the pleasant thoughts covered my conscious. I wanted to leave with my father, no matter how much trouble he or I would be in. My thoughts became angry, unstable.
The booming yell of my devil interrupted my fantasies and I was forced into reality. My thoughts washed me with a pleasurable feeling, but they weren't strong enough to force me into the wrong decision. I sat there, gripping the seat until my pointed knuckles became white, my eyes tearing more from the realization of my weakness. Why couldn't I do this? Why can't I move?
The emotional and physical pain throbbed, making me weak, creating the potential numbness covering my body. My fantasies made the tears fainter, until they stopped. Oh, how they send joy through me; but still I sat there motionless. I couldn't do what my mind's judgment persuades me to do; the worse choice. All I can do is think of what would happen, as my body warmed the bench below me. At least I'll see him in a year. Tears streamed down my face at that statement.
I wanted to run down onto the shined floor, scream at the Platoon Sargent, grab my father and run, just run. I could feel my fee already moving, my arm gripping the sear, my voice ready for the brutal attack. My imagination took over, my vision blackened as the pleasant thoughts covered my conscious. I wanted to leave with my father, no matter how much trouble he or I would be in. My thoughts became angry, unstable.
The booming yell of my devil interrupted my fantasies and I was forced into reality. My thoughts washed me with a pleasurable feeling, but they weren't strong enough to force me into the wrong decision. I sat there, gripping the seat until my pointed knuckles became white, my eyes tearing more from the realization of my weakness. Why couldn't I do this? Why can't I move?
The emotional and physical pain throbbed, making me weak, creating the potential numbness covering my body. My fantasies made the tears fainter, until they stopped. Oh, how they send joy through me; but still I sat there motionless. I couldn't do what my mind's judgment persuades me to do; the worse choice. All I can do is think of what would happen, as my body warmed the bench below me. At least I'll see him in a year. Tears streamed down my face at that statement.