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Aeraie

Aeraie

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Darkest Secrets (cont.)
Bigger Pictures
April 2013 Contest

Post 1: Information
Post 2: Yrolg (cont.)
Posts 3-4: Emperor Worf
Posts 5-10: The Level

29-Sep-2012 05:20:28 - Last edited on 01-May-2013 21:38:41 by Aeraie

Aeraie

Aeraie

Posts: 9,100 Rune Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
What would I give for the pain in my chest to be just as transient, to disappear with a mere shift in posture? Would I give my memories, my buoy on the seas of depression, bobbing upon the waves of pain that crash within my conscience? They are all that I cling to in my desperation to return to what once was. They are a connection with my Emmeline that shall last throughout my cowardice; a thread which binds us despite my guilt. My hair whips wildly about my face as I turn to face the frost-covered rocks and melancholy tarn that rested behind me: I would. In shame and in self-pity I work my way to their gleaming facets, cajoling my instincts to inaction. It was through such meditation and pain that I have learned nothing. Emmeline, you see my fault; you see that I truly do not deserve you. We are forever bound by this pain I have inflicted, and I now bow my head in tears with recognition that we shall be together only in this suffering.

The writhing rivers that make their lifeless way from this desolate spot melt effortlessly into the reticent tarn. I have thought, and still do, of the ease with which I might slip my body into its motionless waters. Like the wind, I would weave a dreadful path as its taciturn surface envelops my unremitting sorrows. When the waters close in over my sinking eyes and my body descends to where even the light dares not go, I shall at last be truly alone with the secret I dared not ever tell—that I love you.


-//-

29-Sep-2012 05:20:33 - Last edited on 02-Oct-2012 00:21:55 by Aeraie

Aeraie

Aeraie

Posts: 9,100 Rune Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
------Emperor Worf------
1st place, Bigger Pictures

---The Lightning and the Eagle ---


It was a humid day in Vietnam.

Of course, to the natives, humidity was not out of the ordinary. The thick air, which was stifling to any outsider, was like a familiar blanket. However, a new layer of familiarity had woven itself into their daily lives of late: the monotone roar of fighter jets. The constant cacophony only lent a voice to the smothering atmosphere.

Private Mark Aquila had never gotten used to the humidity.

He lay caked in the thick mud of a steep bank, his sweat mixing with the thirsty earth. He glanced at his watch, then slowly rotated his head to listen to the sky. The jets had not yet arrived. He wanted to sigh, but decided against it. One never knew how much movement would attract the Viet Cong’s attention. He had seen men gunned down for merely scratching their noses. Unnecessary movement was not an option.

He returned his attention to the scene below his bank. It was an idyllic, ordinary Vietnamese village. A few ragged chickens strutted proudly between the dingy straw huts, lords of their domain. Mark sometimes wondered what it would feel like to be one of the peasants of a village, and have to go out into the surrounding paddies with the leeches and the snakes to hack a living out of the swaying rice stalks. It seemed like an honest life. A shame they had to turn Commie, he thought.

The jets roared in the distance. Mark blinked, capturing the scene in his mind.

As the jets screamed closer, Mark felt the familiar rush of adrenaline begin seeping into his body, like a Roman citizen about to see a man executed in the Coliseum. He gently lifted a pair of camouflaged binoculars, waiting for the spectacle with a macabre eagerness. The rumble of the angels of death overhead became almost unbearable, until Mark let out a whimper that was drowned out by the whine of falling napalm.

29-Sep-2012 05:20:39 - Last edited on 03-Oct-2012 21:07:14 by Aeraie

Aeraie

Aeraie

Posts: 9,100 Rune Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
The gates of hell opened, and its tiny victim was instantly engulfed in flames. A few screams echoed out of the inferno, and a gust of wind pushed the scent of roasting flesh up the little hill as the blood-red column of fire bleached into a pillar of smoke. Mark watched the village burn. It was one of hundreds, thousands; there was no use in crying over it. Napalm still flickered in the center of the little town, giving the swirling white smoke a frantically beating heart. A young woman burst from the clutches of the pale beast, her ragged shirt pulled over her face. She stumbled a few yards away from the column of smoke before falling face-first to the ground. Mark held his binoculars’ gaze on the shaking figure, nearly entranced. She raised her tearful gaze to the rice paddies beyond, and then cut her own throat.

The binoculars refused to budge from the corpse, no matter how strongly Mark forced himself to look away. In truth, the woman was nothing special to look at: a weak chin, unfortunately coupled with a large nose. She was ordinary; and yet, Mark could not tear his eyes away. In another world, she might have been his wife. He couldn’t help but imagine their life together: a pair of children, a boy and a girl, a cozy little shack in the middle of the village. He would come in from the paddies, ankles caked in mud and carrying a basket of rice on his shoulder, and look up to see his beautifully ordinary wife sweeping their small porch. She would turn her gaze upwards and smile; and he would smile back.

The wind shifted, and the white beast of smoke swallowed his dream.

---

29-Sep-2012 05:20:48 - Last edited on 03-Oct-2012 21:07:37 by Aeraie

Aeraie

Aeraie

Posts: 9,100 Rune Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
------ The Level ------
1st Place, April 2013 Story Contest

"War Without a Victor"

Brain shifted restlessly on his feet and kicked the dirt in front of him. The thick cotton uniform he wore clung to his skin in the sticky heat, and the stench of gunpowder filled his nostrils and stung his eyes. Adding to his misery, the artillery that thundered behind him showed no signs of slowing the hour-long cannonade, which only further assaulted his ringing ears.

The bombardment had excited him at first. It was inspiring in a way. Two hundred cannons simultaneously raining fire and death down upon the enemy for the glory of the nation! He had initially been worried that the cannons wouldn’t leave anybody alive for the soldiers to kill. By now his enthusiasm was faded, his head throbbed, and his legs ached from standing for so long. With such little to do, he allowed his thoughts to drift back to antebellum life.

He recalled a quiet existence of academia and material comforts, a world of grandiloquent titles and lavish galas. His position as an esteemed university’s professor of literature granted him access to the highest social circles in those days, but in the military it only meant a nickname: Brain. It was derisive in intent, but Brain passed it off as simple immaturity from the other soldiers, many of whom were much younger than he.

They were like his former pupils, really—uncouth and free-spirited, with a keen nose for trouble. Pranks were frequent and vicious, reminding Brain of some of the legendary practical jokes executed by his students at the college. Most of those boys were fighting the war now, and the university shut its doors when they left to undertake their duty of defending the country.

29-Sep-2012 05:20:54 - Last edited on 01-May-2013 21:39:52 by Aeraie

Aeraie

Aeraie

Posts: 9,100 Rune Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
Remembering the festive mood of the city on the day war was declared brought a slight smile to Brain’s face. People crowded the streets to hang flags from buildings and listen to marching bands play patriotic anthems. Amateur orators (Brain included) stood on the corners and spouted stirring jingoisms while the boys rushed to enlist at the recruitment tables. “Quick victory” was the battle-cry of the day, and blind optimism meant that even the most cowardly signed their name to the enlistment papers. “It’ll be over in a weak,” they said to themselves. “Over in a week.”

Brain’s thoughts were interrupted by a sudden chorus of voices around him. He noticed officers moving among the men with urgency, yelling orders and directing them into rigid lines. Brain’s stomach fluttered as he realized the assault was finally beginning. He swallowed hard and adjusted the flintlock rifle resting on his shoulder. He betrayed his anxiety by uneasily glancing at the soldiers around him.

They were arrayed in one of three lines, five men deep, that stretched as far as the eye could see in both directions, facing an open field mostly covered by smoke. Somewhere in the hazy miasma, lurking beyond their sight, the enemy waited. As he stared into the fog, a dozen worries raced through his head. What if the gun doesn’t work? He barely knew how to load it, much less repair it. What if I lose my glasses? Suppose I get lost? Through all the worries, the thought of death never entered his head. Death was an impossibility, and thus irrelevant.

The officers continued to hastily organize the line, and to his chagrin Brain found himself in the front row, gazing out at the battlefield. A gray-bearded lieutenant pushed past him and turned to face the line. With flourish he drew his sword and waved it above his head.

29-Sep-2012 05:20:59 - Last edited on 01-May-2013 21:40:09 by Aeraie

Aeraie

Aeraie

Posts: 9,100 Rune Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
“Gentlemen!” he shouted over the din. “In front of us the enemy waits! For your country and for your people, do not falter! Do not give victory to the aggressors! Show them the pride of our nation! Fix bayonets!”

The lieutenant grabbed the unit flag from one of his aides and approached Brain. “Not you, soldier. Turn in your weapon. You will be our standard bearer.”

Brain took the flag with shaking hands. “M-me?”

“Just raise it high and follow me,” the lieutenant said, resting a hand on Brain’s shoulder. “You above all cannot falter. When the battle rages and the fog of war descends upon us, they will look to the flag that you now hold.” The lieutenant withdrew and raised his voice again. “Follow the flag, gentlemen! Never look away from the flag! March on the bugle!”

As he stood there, the flag flapping wildly in his hands, the prospect of death finally pervaded his mind. The flag, he realized, made him a target. The most visible target on the battlefield. Suppose death is painful? Or would it welcome him in a comforting embrace, a shield against the horrors around him? His heart thumped in his chest and his breathing quickened, but the sounding bugle afforded him no more time to ponder it. The drum core began its cadence, and the army began to march forward.

The cannon fire ceased as the advance began, and a ghostly quiet settled across the battlefield, save the sound of ten thousand feet trudging towards their fate. The silence lasted mere moments, shattered by the unleashing of the enemy’s first artillery barrage. The shells landed haphazardly around the line, blowing sizable clumps of rock and earth into the air, but not harming a single man. The line gave a loud cheer.

“That one was just to find the range,” the soldier to Brain’s right said grimly. “The next one will hurt.”

29-Sep-2012 05:21:14 - Last edited on 01-May-2013 21:40:42 by Aeraie

Aeraie

Aeraie

Posts: 9,100 Rune Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
The cannons fired again. He could hear the cannonballs scream as they hurtled into the air, and he imagined them arcing gracefully into the sky, before plummeting towards the exposed army, one that couldn’t even see their destroyer in the thick smoke that still shrouded them. For several tense moments, he listened.

Impact.

Chaos around him. Fire licked the air in front of his face, and a million small bits of metal exploded outward, puncturing flesh like a sword through paper. The blast threw him to the ground, where he stayed as the cries of dying men filled his ears.

The horrible moment passed.

Brain stayed on the ground, trembling and unable to muster the courage to stand. Fear surrounded him. Mocked him. He was paralyzed by it. Never before had a terror so powerful stricken him. In a moment, all thoughts of bravado and heroism abandoned him. He wasn’t a soldier; he was just a professor.

Someone seized his arm and pulled Brain to his feet. The lieutenant.

“The flag!” he was shouting. “Grab the God damn flag!” Brain could only stare with empty eyes. Cursing, the lieutenant gave the unresponsive man a hard slap across the face. “Come on, soldier! How will you ever be able to look at yourself in the mirror?”

Cheek stinging, Brain reached down and grabbed the standard that lay before his feet. As he waved it above his head, soldiers flocked around him even as the shelling continued.

“We’re almost there!” the lieutenant announced, wild-eyed and covered with dirt. ''Double-time forward!”

They were moving forward again, running now, while the cannons pounded the ground around them with deafening blasts. Adrenaline and fear mixed to release a sort of euphoria in Brain, and in the men behind him as well. They whooped and hollered and rattled their weapons while they ran, countering the terror that welled up in their chests with boyish jubilation.

29-Sep-2012 05:21:21 - Last edited on 01-May-2013 21:40:55 by Aeraie

Aeraie

Aeraie

Posts: 9,100 Rune Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
The lines were broken now, having deteriorated into a mad dash after the lieutenant, who continued to swing his sword and call them forward.

They suddenly broke out of the haze, and into the fresh, clean air. For a moment, the enemy remained unseen.

Then, they appeared. Like spectral demons they rose from the ground, out of trenches and foxholes—from behind trees and stones. They filled Brain’s vision—there were too many of them to overcome. His heart leaped in his throat, but he kept running, kept screaming. Even as the deadly rifles were leveled at him, he urged himself to run faster.

The enemy vanished in a thick cloud of white spoke as they discharged their weapons. A rush of air gusted past Brain, and then he was running alone and the lieutenant was dead. A moment later, pain swelled in Brain’s shoulder, and then his abdomen. Struck by a near miss, Brain’s spectacles flew off his face, but kept running blindly, even as more bullets struck him and he could no longer see where he was going.

Body finally weakened, Brain stumbled and fell face down into the dirt. He began sobbing, and his tears mixed with the blood that profusely bubbled from his wounds to form a pool around his body. As the precious liquid departed, so too did the pain.

He was alone now, alone with his last desires. He wanted to go home. He wanted to curl up in front of a fireplace with a good book and read until the warm fire lulled him to sleep. He wanted to lean back in a recliner and sip a glass of imported tea while chatting about literature with his students. He wanted his family, his friends.

Above all, he wanted to be alive.

The body shuddered, and the soul departed.

---

29-Sep-2012 19:39:19 - Last edited on 01-May-2013 21:41:25 by Aeraie

Aeraie

Aeraie

Posts: 9,100 Rune Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
---

A cool, misty wind rustled the general’s coat. He closed his eyes, letting the evening air caress his worn cheeks and assuage the pounding in his head. After such a day, he welcomed the coming of night. Here, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the last faint light slipped away, there was only peace. No more war. No more cannons, rifles, and bullets. Here, there was only the soft buzzing of the cicadas and the gentle flares of the fireflies. Twilight was a time of healing. A time of reflection.

Faceless men moved around him, wordlessly pulling the dead into neat rows and covering them with blankets. The general pitied them for having to carry out such a ghastly task. He looked down one of the long lines of bodies and stroked his beard contemplatively.

“I wonder who died today,” he said softly, sadness tugging at his voice.

“Let my check the casualty reports, sir,” a junior aide behind him spoke, rummaging through a bag of papers.

“No, no,'' the general snapped. ''I don’t need the numbers.” He reached down and unpinned a paper that was attached to one of the blankets. Peering closely at the paper in the dim lighting, he began to read. “Private Marcus Abelmen. Married with two kids.” He turned to look at the aide. “Two kids are going to grow up without a daddy.”

He moved on. “Private Damian Jacobs. A carpenter from just across the river.” He closed his eyes and thought hard. “Yes, in fact I do believe he helped build the church over in the distance there. These hands will never carve wood again.” He shook his head, and moved on.

He continued on in this way, reading the information pinned to each dead soldier aloud, even as the night deepened and the wind became icy and bitter. The aged general showed no signs of faltering though, taking the same amount of time with each soldier as he did the first one. Finally, he reached the end of that particular line.

29-Sep-2012 19:39:24 - Last edited on 01-May-2013 21:41:58 by Aeraie

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