01-13-2011, 07:54 AM
“Ouch,” Sid whispered as he peeled his body off the warm, sun-kissed earth. His baseball cap had fallen from his atop his head, allowing his dirty blonde hair to dance around in the gentle breeze. He rubbed his sore shoulder and pushed his body into a seated position on the heated dirt. About a hundred yards away, separated from Sid by an array of broken crates and scattered equipment, was the downed transport vehicle that he had formerly been a passenger on. The hull’s steel was twisted and mangled, mauled and ripped asunder by some foreign power. Clouds of smoke billowed from the wreck, and the simmering fires corrupted the otherwise silent and deserted landscape. There were no other signs of life for as far as the eye could see, not in any direction.
“What in the hell happened?” A voice faintly echoed across the earthen floor. Sid’s ears, picking up on the noise immediately, tracked its source like a trained hunting hound: a group of soldiers, or militia, or whatever they were, had gathered around some of the smashed crates and were searching through the remains. Sid snatched up his bag and eagerly dashed over towards them.
“Hey, hey we got company!” One of the soldiers shouted as the youngling raced towards the small group.
“No, I’m a friend!” Sid shouted as he smacked himself in the forward. He should have shouted to them before just sprinting over. Everyone knows you don’t trust strangers after all, Mrs. Jones in the third grade had taught him that. Then again, he didn’t know these people either. Could he really trust them?
“Stop!” One of the men, who wore a basic combat uniform with a single insignia sewn onto the shoulder, leveled his gun as Sid slowed to a halt and raised his arms high above his head.
“Don’t shoot! Please!” Sid shouted, his voice shaking with fear as he thrust his hands into the classic ‘I surrender, don’t shoot’ pose.
“Jesus Christ Brett, it’s just a fucking kid,” another man stepped forward and spoke. “Put your god damn gun down.”
The second man slapped the body of the first man’s assault rifle, knocking down the barrel and forcing him to lower his weapon. The aggressor apologized, and the two walked forward towards the still stagnant pre-teen. There were others behind them, who were simply watching the scene unfold and were continuing to salvage what they could from the scattered equipment
“What are you doing out here kid?” the second man questioned.
Sid hesitated for a moment, eyeing the man who had previously leveled his weapon at him, and then responded, “I was on the ship, sir.” He spoke as if he were being questioned and reprimanded by the principal, guilt riddled his voice.
“That ship was for militia personnel only! How in the hell did you get on?!” The first man interjected, his question rhetorical and his frustration palpable. It was understandable, Sid thought to himself, the man had probably lost countless friends when the ship went down. Anger was an emotion that was frequently redirected.
“Settle down Brett,” the second man continued, turning slightly and pressing his hand down on his comrade’s shoulder. After a moment, Brett seemed to calm. The formerly aggressive man glanced one more time at the kid, and then turned his back and returned to the other members of their group.
“You snuck on that plane, didn’t you?” The second man, an older man, asked as he stepped towards Sid.
“Yes sir, I snuck on that plane.”
“And why did you do that?”
“Because I’m going to help,” Sid responded. His voice was strong and confident, but there was fear in his eyes as he watched the transport vehicle smolder in the background. What could he do against something that could do that to a space ship?
“You were going to help were you?”
“No sir, I am going to help.”
The older man chuckled and reached forward towards Sid. The boy recoiled slightly, but a reassuring glance from the protective soldier made him reconsider. Continuing his original motion, the man gripped the child’s small muscles jokingly.
“Alright, well, you’re strong enough for me. Come help us carry some equipment and we’ll get you home, alright?”
“Yes sir!” Sid shouted excitedly, a grin spreading across his face. He raced past the older man towards the beaten, downtrodden group of soldiers and volunteers.
“We’re taking kids with us now, huh boss?” a third man walked up to the older man as the child departed and questioned him.
“Would you rather leave him out here to fend for himself?”
The question was met with silent approval, and the two older men watched with crossed arms as the mysterious young boy raced around smashed crates, searching for equipment to salvage.
“What in the hell happened?” A voice faintly echoed across the earthen floor. Sid’s ears, picking up on the noise immediately, tracked its source like a trained hunting hound: a group of soldiers, or militia, or whatever they were, had gathered around some of the smashed crates and were searching through the remains. Sid snatched up his bag and eagerly dashed over towards them.
“Hey, hey we got company!” One of the soldiers shouted as the youngling raced towards the small group.
“No, I’m a friend!” Sid shouted as he smacked himself in the forward. He should have shouted to them before just sprinting over. Everyone knows you don’t trust strangers after all, Mrs. Jones in the third grade had taught him that. Then again, he didn’t know these people either. Could he really trust them?
“Stop!” One of the men, who wore a basic combat uniform with a single insignia sewn onto the shoulder, leveled his gun as Sid slowed to a halt and raised his arms high above his head.
“Don’t shoot! Please!” Sid shouted, his voice shaking with fear as he thrust his hands into the classic ‘I surrender, don’t shoot’ pose.
“Jesus Christ Brett, it’s just a fucking kid,” another man stepped forward and spoke. “Put your god damn gun down.”
The second man slapped the body of the first man’s assault rifle, knocking down the barrel and forcing him to lower his weapon. The aggressor apologized, and the two walked forward towards the still stagnant pre-teen. There were others behind them, who were simply watching the scene unfold and were continuing to salvage what they could from the scattered equipment
“What are you doing out here kid?” the second man questioned.
Sid hesitated for a moment, eyeing the man who had previously leveled his weapon at him, and then responded, “I was on the ship, sir.” He spoke as if he were being questioned and reprimanded by the principal, guilt riddled his voice.
“That ship was for militia personnel only! How in the hell did you get on?!” The first man interjected, his question rhetorical and his frustration palpable. It was understandable, Sid thought to himself, the man had probably lost countless friends when the ship went down. Anger was an emotion that was frequently redirected.
“Settle down Brett,” the second man continued, turning slightly and pressing his hand down on his comrade’s shoulder. After a moment, Brett seemed to calm. The formerly aggressive man glanced one more time at the kid, and then turned his back and returned to the other members of their group.
“You snuck on that plane, didn’t you?” The second man, an older man, asked as he stepped towards Sid.
“Yes sir, I snuck on that plane.”
“And why did you do that?”
“Because I’m going to help,” Sid responded. His voice was strong and confident, but there was fear in his eyes as he watched the transport vehicle smolder in the background. What could he do against something that could do that to a space ship?
“You were going to help were you?”
“No sir, I am going to help.”
The older man chuckled and reached forward towards Sid. The boy recoiled slightly, but a reassuring glance from the protective soldier made him reconsider. Continuing his original motion, the man gripped the child’s small muscles jokingly.
“Alright, well, you’re strong enough for me. Come help us carry some equipment and we’ll get you home, alright?”
“Yes sir!” Sid shouted excitedly, a grin spreading across his face. He raced past the older man towards the beaten, downtrodden group of soldiers and volunteers.
“We’re taking kids with us now, huh boss?” a third man walked up to the older man as the child departed and questioned him.
“Would you rather leave him out here to fend for himself?”
The question was met with silent approval, and the two older men watched with crossed arms as the mysterious young boy raced around smashed crates, searching for equipment to salvage.