01-13-2011, 10:00 PM
Morning arrived faster than the girl had hoped; all too soon, they were on the march.
“Our perimeter’s being surrounded, maggots,” the sergeant told his troops. Iris sat nervously in her bed, her eyes darting back and forth from the sergeant to Private White. The young private intrigued her; he’d stepped up for her when no one else dared to, and though in the end, it hadn’t done much good, she was, nevertheless, thankful to him for the effort. “Pack up your gear, we’re going to the front lines.” With that statement, the sergeant turned and exited the barracks, leaving the soldiers to it. Night had barely passed, it seemed, and Iris was off to war — suddenly, though, something struck her. If this was going to be her last hurrah, she had to talk to this guy.
“Hey,” she said, moving towards him. For a moment, she observed him. He looked, by all accounts, remarkably similar to her, just in a young boy’s body; his hair was almost the exact same shade of brown, and his facial structure, while built in a much more masculine manner, seemed to carry traits that she herself shared. When he looked up at her, she could see that even their eyes were the same color. It was eerie, but it was a coincidence, she was certain. “I just wanted to say… thanks. For last night.”
“No prob,” the private nodded, a broad smile crossing his countenance, “It was nothing, really. I mean, I’m pretty sure that from the look he had on his face, he didn’t even hear me. At least you took that as a signal to say something.” Iris nodded, a bit nervous talking to him. It wasn’t as if she liked him or anything, he just… intrigued her. She was afraid that, at any moment, all of this ‘nice’ he was portraying would turn to malice, and he would grab her by the throat and take her for testing. That thought was always in the back of her mind. But her thoughts were interrupted by a nudge from behind her.
“Come on, we gotta go, chick.” It was the private from the night before. Iris shot him a glare, and he kept walking. She walked over to her cot, but after grabbing her backpack, she quickly turned back to look at White.
“So, White,” she started, “You never told me your first name.”
The private chuckled a bit, looking across the way at her. “Just call me White. That’ll do for now, I think,” he laughed, but Iris scowled. The private from before, however, wasn’t about to let her get into trouble — she knew he was probably attracted to her — and yanked her away from this guy, who was leagues more interesting than he, to leasve the barracks. She shot a glance back at White, who smiled and gave her a ‘thumbs up’ as if to say ‘We’ll talk later.’
Once again, Iris began to have doubts about her involvement in this war. She was anything but a fighter, and now, she was being bussed to the front lines, most likely as a diversion; a piece of fodder for these aliens to slaughter while the stronger fighters prepared their assault. In the girl’s mind, there was little hope for survival… but she couldn’t honestly think of a way she’d rather die.
The private from before — Private Andrews, he’d said on the way here — nudged her into the jeep. She leered at him, but he ignored her hostility, and went around to the driver’s side of the militarized vehicle. “We’re already late,” he told her, “So don’t get bitchy on me, okay? The sergeant asked me to go pick up stragglers, and you were a straggler, so don’t shoot the fuckin’ messenger.” Iris slid back into her seat, crossing her arms angrily.
“…I’m happy I caught you alone, though,” he said. Iris’s head snapped toward him, afraid that he was going to try and rape her. “Listen, Iris — ”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Fine, Private Swanning, listen,” he muttered quietly, turning the key in the ignition, “You’ve got to stop talking to yourself. It’s weirding everybody out, and it makes you look fuckin’ crazy. Now, you might be fuckin’ crazy, but the Sergeant don’t need everybody thinking that they’re fighting alongside a fuckin’ crazy girl, okay?”
Iris swallowed nervously. He’d said the f-word a bit too many times in that last tirade; perhaps it was just the soldier’s lingo that she wasn’t used to, but she had never used that word before, so the abundance of it scared her. It piled on to all of her fears about this war — what if she wasn’t ready, what if she wasn’t going to make it? She couldn’t think of a way she’d rather die, but she could think of plenty of ways she’d rather live. This had been a mistake, signing up for this war.
Private Andrews didn’t seem to register her concerns — he turned away from her, and pressed on the gas, and within moments, they were traveling out towards the battlefield, the battlefield that Iris was sure would be her deathbed.
“Our perimeter’s being surrounded, maggots,” the sergeant told his troops. Iris sat nervously in her bed, her eyes darting back and forth from the sergeant to Private White. The young private intrigued her; he’d stepped up for her when no one else dared to, and though in the end, it hadn’t done much good, she was, nevertheless, thankful to him for the effort. “Pack up your gear, we’re going to the front lines.” With that statement, the sergeant turned and exited the barracks, leaving the soldiers to it. Night had barely passed, it seemed, and Iris was off to war — suddenly, though, something struck her. If this was going to be her last hurrah, she had to talk to this guy.
“Hey,” she said, moving towards him. For a moment, she observed him. He looked, by all accounts, remarkably similar to her, just in a young boy’s body; his hair was almost the exact same shade of brown, and his facial structure, while built in a much more masculine manner, seemed to carry traits that she herself shared. When he looked up at her, she could see that even their eyes were the same color. It was eerie, but it was a coincidence, she was certain. “I just wanted to say… thanks. For last night.”
“No prob,” the private nodded, a broad smile crossing his countenance, “It was nothing, really. I mean, I’m pretty sure that from the look he had on his face, he didn’t even hear me. At least you took that as a signal to say something.” Iris nodded, a bit nervous talking to him. It wasn’t as if she liked him or anything, he just… intrigued her. She was afraid that, at any moment, all of this ‘nice’ he was portraying would turn to malice, and he would grab her by the throat and take her for testing. That thought was always in the back of her mind. But her thoughts were interrupted by a nudge from behind her.
“Come on, we gotta go, chick.” It was the private from the night before. Iris shot him a glare, and he kept walking. She walked over to her cot, but after grabbing her backpack, she quickly turned back to look at White.
“So, White,” she started, “You never told me your first name.”
The private chuckled a bit, looking across the way at her. “Just call me White. That’ll do for now, I think,” he laughed, but Iris scowled. The private from before, however, wasn’t about to let her get into trouble — she knew he was probably attracted to her — and yanked her away from this guy, who was leagues more interesting than he, to leasve the barracks. She shot a glance back at White, who smiled and gave her a ‘thumbs up’ as if to say ‘We’ll talk later.’
Once again, Iris began to have doubts about her involvement in this war. She was anything but a fighter, and now, she was being bussed to the front lines, most likely as a diversion; a piece of fodder for these aliens to slaughter while the stronger fighters prepared their assault. In the girl’s mind, there was little hope for survival… but she couldn’t honestly think of a way she’d rather die.
The private from before — Private Andrews, he’d said on the way here — nudged her into the jeep. She leered at him, but he ignored her hostility, and went around to the driver’s side of the militarized vehicle. “We’re already late,” he told her, “So don’t get bitchy on me, okay? The sergeant asked me to go pick up stragglers, and you were a straggler, so don’t shoot the fuckin’ messenger.” Iris slid back into her seat, crossing her arms angrily.
“…I’m happy I caught you alone, though,” he said. Iris’s head snapped toward him, afraid that he was going to try and rape her. “Listen, Iris — ”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Fine, Private Swanning, listen,” he muttered quietly, turning the key in the ignition, “You’ve got to stop talking to yourself. It’s weirding everybody out, and it makes you look fuckin’ crazy. Now, you might be fuckin’ crazy, but the Sergeant don’t need everybody thinking that they’re fighting alongside a fuckin’ crazy girl, okay?”
Iris swallowed nervously. He’d said the f-word a bit too many times in that last tirade; perhaps it was just the soldier’s lingo that she wasn’t used to, but she had never used that word before, so the abundance of it scared her. It piled on to all of her fears about this war — what if she wasn’t ready, what if she wasn’t going to make it? She couldn’t think of a way she’d rather die, but she could think of plenty of ways she’d rather live. This had been a mistake, signing up for this war.
Private Andrews didn’t seem to register her concerns — he turned away from her, and pressed on the gas, and within moments, they were traveling out towards the battlefield, the battlefield that Iris was sure would be her deathbed.