02-15-2011, 11:36 PM
There was no sense trying to comprehend her surroundings. Bodies pressed, marched, pulsed past her and into the fray. She was lost. Jarka was a single, insignificant, foolish little girl surrounded by soldiers. Killers. Weapons. She would die, and she would be forgotten, barely a blemish on the battlefield.
She could hear yelling, the barking of orders through communicators. It meant nothing. They were words for those that mattered, those that understood their place. The warriors would have their commands; she would be alone with her terror.
Then there was Sigfried. The boy turned to her, gesturing towards the battlefield. His words were distorted long before they reached her ears; the tumultuous expression contorting his face was all she needed to understand the gravity of the situation. She had never seen him like this. He seemed so raw, so bursting with energy and rage and bloodlust. Ready to tear out the throats of their enemies, the berserker let forth a blustering cry.
The waves of battle crashed forward.
Jarka clutched the gun she had been assigned as she stumbled ahead. The weapon felt clunky in her hands, like trying to wear mittens filled with marbles. It was wrong. This wasn’t where she was supposed to be. Greens and greys and yellows and sickening wet reds splashed across her vision.
She felt a monstrous arm clutch her waist and toss her aside. The ground her feet had been resting upon only a second before exploded with enemy fire. The red of Sigfried’s hoodie flashed for a moment before a rhinoceros decimated their attackers.
A lecherous buzz zipped past her head. The girl fumbled with the weapon in her hands, failing to discern the origin of the shot. Bodies and bodies and figures and death surrounded her. She couldn’t tell who was on her side; it was all a disgusting blur of sweat and color.
The fearsome shriek of a falcon preceded the fearful shriek of an invader. Sigfried found the shot.
Nauseous, the girl squinted at the tangle surrounding her. She had to find a strategy. Had to find a way to fight. To win.
It was useless. Jarka was no soldier. She could not comprehend the ebbs and flows of battle, nor determine what might be an opportune time to attack or defend. One might as well expect an ant to understand the rules of chess because it had passed over the board.
A flash of red. Sigfried. The girl fixed her eyes on her fearless leader. Her friend. He turned to her, eyes pleading. Anxious. Worried for her.
Jarka watched as the boy beckoned to her. She watched as his mouth traced a wordless call to arms, a call to action, a call to survive. She watched as the grenade plummeted towards him, bouncing once at his feet. He didn’t see it. She watched as the energy expelled, tearing apart Sigfried’s limbs and mixing them with the clods of dirt and blood. Flash.
A flash of red. Sigfried. The girl fixed her eyes on her fearless leader. Her friend. He turned to her, eyes pleading. Anxious. Worried for her.
She had seen the future. She could change it. She could save him.
With no time to warn him, her eyes darted to the sky in anticipation of the grenade. The tiny explosive sailed almost innocently through the sky. Two steps and a jump and Jarka reached out her mind’s hand. Her mind’s fingers grasped the orb for a moment before pitching it back to its origin. The psychic landed on her feet, her body twisted in a mimicry of the mental exertion she had put forth.
Sigfried stared at her in a strange conglomeration of wonder and gratitude as the grenade exploded into a heap of invaders behind him. He opened his mouth to speak.
The sudden pain took Jarka by surprise. It was a strange burning just beneath her left collarbone, followed by a sharp stabbing as she exhaled. She twisted her neck to the source. A seeping crimson trail lead her to a tattered hole in her chest.
Shot. She had been shot.
Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground. Her left arm flopped limply across her stomach. It hurt to try and move it. The pain was getting worse, expanding to her shattered shoulder blade and rippling through her chest cavity. Ragged wheezing led to the taste of blood led to panic and fear.
“Ssss...” She couldn’t manage the breath to say his name. She wanted to scream. To cry. She couldn’t. She had to save her breath. Had to hold on. Had to save herself. Her mind was clear. It just hurt too damn much to breathe.
Sigfried.... I don’t want to die.
She could hear yelling, the barking of orders through communicators. It meant nothing. They were words for those that mattered, those that understood their place. The warriors would have their commands; she would be alone with her terror.
Then there was Sigfried. The boy turned to her, gesturing towards the battlefield. His words were distorted long before they reached her ears; the tumultuous expression contorting his face was all she needed to understand the gravity of the situation. She had never seen him like this. He seemed so raw, so bursting with energy and rage and bloodlust. Ready to tear out the throats of their enemies, the berserker let forth a blustering cry.
The waves of battle crashed forward.
Jarka clutched the gun she had been assigned as she stumbled ahead. The weapon felt clunky in her hands, like trying to wear mittens filled with marbles. It was wrong. This wasn’t where she was supposed to be. Greens and greys and yellows and sickening wet reds splashed across her vision.
She felt a monstrous arm clutch her waist and toss her aside. The ground her feet had been resting upon only a second before exploded with enemy fire. The red of Sigfried’s hoodie flashed for a moment before a rhinoceros decimated their attackers.
A lecherous buzz zipped past her head. The girl fumbled with the weapon in her hands, failing to discern the origin of the shot. Bodies and bodies and figures and death surrounded her. She couldn’t tell who was on her side; it was all a disgusting blur of sweat and color.
The fearsome shriek of a falcon preceded the fearful shriek of an invader. Sigfried found the shot.
Nauseous, the girl squinted at the tangle surrounding her. She had to find a strategy. Had to find a way to fight. To win.
It was useless. Jarka was no soldier. She could not comprehend the ebbs and flows of battle, nor determine what might be an opportune time to attack or defend. One might as well expect an ant to understand the rules of chess because it had passed over the board.
A flash of red. Sigfried. The girl fixed her eyes on her fearless leader. Her friend. He turned to her, eyes pleading. Anxious. Worried for her.
Jarka watched as the boy beckoned to her. She watched as his mouth traced a wordless call to arms, a call to action, a call to survive. She watched as the grenade plummeted towards him, bouncing once at his feet. He didn’t see it. She watched as the energy expelled, tearing apart Sigfried’s limbs and mixing them with the clods of dirt and blood. Flash.
A flash of red. Sigfried. The girl fixed her eyes on her fearless leader. Her friend. He turned to her, eyes pleading. Anxious. Worried for her.
She had seen the future. She could change it. She could save him.
With no time to warn him, her eyes darted to the sky in anticipation of the grenade. The tiny explosive sailed almost innocently through the sky. Two steps and a jump and Jarka reached out her mind’s hand. Her mind’s fingers grasped the orb for a moment before pitching it back to its origin. The psychic landed on her feet, her body twisted in a mimicry of the mental exertion she had put forth.
Sigfried stared at her in a strange conglomeration of wonder and gratitude as the grenade exploded into a heap of invaders behind him. He opened his mouth to speak.
The sudden pain took Jarka by surprise. It was a strange burning just beneath her left collarbone, followed by a sharp stabbing as she exhaled. She twisted her neck to the source. A seeping crimson trail lead her to a tattered hole in her chest.
Shot. She had been shot.
Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground. Her left arm flopped limply across her stomach. It hurt to try and move it. The pain was getting worse, expanding to her shattered shoulder blade and rippling through her chest cavity. Ragged wheezing led to the taste of blood led to panic and fear.
“Ssss...” She couldn’t manage the breath to say his name. She wanted to scream. To cry. She couldn’t. She had to save her breath. Had to hold on. Had to save herself. Her mind was clear. It just hurt too damn much to breathe.
Sigfried.... I don’t want to die.
[SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]
If life gives you lemons, hand them to me!
I've got a great recipe for lemon meringue pie.
If life gives you lemons, hand them to me!
I've got a great recipe for lemon meringue pie.