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Tell all that pass
Posted By: Kaiyo No hime<hitokiri_hime@yahoo.com>
Date: 20 September 2010, 8:23 am
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It wasn't very cold. She had to laugh at that. For the first time in a long time, in all the life she could remember, it felt warm. Pleasant. Like a cozy bed with waiting blankets, and a mug of cocoa on the table beside, waiting for her. Inviting her to snuggle in, and be full, and warm, and safe for as long as the wind outside was cruel.
In a way, it was her heaven, this warmth. Not an eternity, but a moment. In single lasting second that lasted forever. That one moment when clean sheets wrapped around her, and the blankets settled softly. A few feathers in the air from some invisible rip reminding her of just how soft the pillows really were. Pastel colors dancing across the worn, well loved threads.
But there weren't any blankets, barely any screaming either, really. At least, that's what she thought she heard, in the distance. Loud, panicky sounds and voices drifting in and out of range. Sharp lights finishing off the darkness, interrupting the dull shadows. A spark, and then three; lightning dancing across a screaming sky.
She was sure the sky was screaming. It had to be the sky, she couldn't recall anything else, anyone else, ever being in this enchanting moment of heaven.
No, she remembered falling. She remembered heat, and pain, and running, and falling. It was such a long, long, long way to fall. Forever and ever, and so very, very heavy. She had been in such misery before she drifted here. In such pain.
No!
She did not want to think about the suffering, the agony that had lit the path that she had followed. Dancing across shards of glass, never grimacing, only running forward, always running forward. One did not stop to think of what lay behind, and beneath, and ahead. They only knew they must. There was only forward. There could be no turning back.
The voices were louder now. Fading in and out, shouting things she could not hear properly, shouting that eternal order: forward. Forward. Forward.
But she was too heavy to go forward. Too heavy to get up and run with the others. To pick up her weapon and aim. Too heavy, and warm, and tired to kill the enemy. And so her use as a soldier, as a tool, as a person, was at an end.
She could remember the world outside heaven now, the battlefield where she had been. Her HUD was destroyed, barely saving her face from the plasma fire. But the rest of her body had not been so lucky. She had been hit and then cooked alive as she fell into the mud, the others too busy fighting to stop and watch her die. It was not their place to fall here, to die.
In the mud where they had trained, had been born again, and taught how to kill. Their home now, more than their lives before. More than the warm bed on a now glassed planet, light years from this bloody soil. A child's faded memory turned dream and forgotten, only to be remembered now. Slowly. Sadly.
A figure crouched over her, Rudy, a comrade, a friend. Raised together, trained together. Since they were six years old. Ancient now, but still dear.
She laughed, blood gurgling in her throat in lungs. She was turning soft, going insane in the last few moments. Already insane, and fading back and forth across the darkness, missing the warm blankets, but fearing to leave the mud and chaos.
He didn't have to talk. He already knew. Too much damage, it was a wonder she had come back at all. But, of course, a Spartan II never really dies. They're always there, running down that path of shattered glass, no past, no future, only forward. Forward until there are no stars left to shine on their charge, and still forward they go into that cold darkness.
A slight pressure on a forgotten limb, and the warmth goes numb. Sedatives to ease the passing. Drugs to bring a swift and quiet death. Dear Rudy, always too kind.
She hopes he has saved enough for himself, and the others. She would see them soon, past the darkness and on the other side. She looked forward to that. This planet, their home, was doomed. There was no saving it now, there was only defending those who could escape. Let them tell their tale proudly, and truly.
Let them tell of when the Spartan IIs fell with Reach.
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