A LetterYou were bullied a lot, weren't you? Not by a single tormenter, but by the world. And so you feel the need to respond with just as much hate as you feel you were subjected to all your life. Completely emotional, you lash out against everyone at once for fear that they will somehow hurt you unless you hurt them first. It's more than revenge, though, your anger is internal.You're angry that it's so hard to be recognized for positive things--doing good--so all you ever do is what you've always done; attract negative attention because it's better than being totally ignored. Much like the sick Stockholm-like syndrome of the bullied who love their tormenters for acknowledging them. All you're after is attention.In the end, you're just a parasite. A waste of oxygen. A lone cancer cell unable to spread despite your best efforts. So you're not even a disease. You're pathetic. You don't contribute constructively to society, but you reap the benefits greater people have given you without repayi
The soldier on the doorstepThe resonating emotion buffeted by silent words muffled behind walls of glassThe rolling storm of crushing rain pouring relentlessly down with unstoppable forceThe blasting cold piercing cloth and Kevlar to slash against tenderly numb skinThe dragging current pulling down deeper and deeper into the wide black abyssThe crushing pressure pounding on the foggy thoughts of a domed blast furnaceThe horrible realization of cold, hard, unforgiving fact striking hard where it hurts mostThe man who'll never come home
Festering Fear"MEDIIIIC!!!"An unearthly call that echoes through the endless space surrounding him as he runs. His bones are purpose-built, muscles task-dedicated, mind specifically trained for this. With great strides his boots pound into the ground, one after the other, propelling his gear-laden person forward. Faster and faster he runs, a slow thumping pound in his ears.He reaches a wall with poor means of scaling, and no way around. Furrowing his eyebrows and pressing his lips, he throws himself against it, clinging to the few niches as he struggles against his heavy vest, pouches, and packs to pull himself up to the next. Without looking down, he reaches the top and drops over, tumbling across the ground to continue his sprint. The pounding continues, steadily increasing in frequency.Suddenly he stands at the bank of a rushing river, the opposite bank impossibly far away. Taking a deep breath, he wades in as the water rises higher and higher towards his chin. Struggling to keep
Aelita's Escape"Status on Commando.""Drop point reached. Standby.""Commando Alpha dropping in.""Solid copy.""Alpha in.""Roger that. Good hunting."Doors on the bottom of a large hovering craft that materialized from air open to drop several heavily equipped soldiers in black with glowing rectangles of blue. The cords that broke their thirty foot fall disconnect the moment their boots hit the gravel rooftop, allowing them to move in unison over the edge and down the stairs.The bar door bursts open as several ghosts storm inside. A man in a dress shirt, tie, and rimless glasses yells at a woman with short, black windswept hair in a white shirt, blue jeans, and running shoes. "Run Aelita!"With inhuman speed and agility, she darts through the small panicking crowd, flying through the door as the commandos rappelling down the facade reach it."Tango-one sighted!""Hot mobile northbound!""Begin pursuit!"Inside the bar, the man in broken glasses is forced to the ground by an armored officer and rea
Ballistic Philosophy"A great man would probably say that what he saw through that scope was a scared boy, lost and confused in this hell to which those he trusted sent him. Great men are also full of shit. When I looked down that rifle, all I saw was a monster. An alien creature hell bent on my destruction. A threat to my existence. It was only after the fact that I realized he was nothing more than another young somebody's son, brother, lover. Just as terrified as I had been when my life was in danger. You could say it was going to be either me or him, but why should that choice ever have to be made?"
PlanetSide 2 - Terran Take Tech PlantBullets snapped overhead as the Lieutenant ducked behind a concrete barricade with the rest of his platoon. The large facility about three hundred meters across open space between two ridges was alight with enemy muzzle flashes, their calibers ranging from pistol rounds up to 120mm cannons that pounded the ground with great bursts of dust where road and rock had once been."Termite, this is Saber: have you breached the facility? Over." One high-explosive round blasted against a barrier, failing to breach it but deafening and disorienting the men crouched behind it."Negative Saber! Break!" he yelled into his headset, using the pause to empty his magazine in the direction of the target structure as others also laid down suppressing fire. "We are pinned down almost half a click to the south-east! Over!""How do you want us to assist, Termite? Over." The officer looked at the road now riddled with deep potholes and blackened craters from which a couple brave souls were sniping. He ducked
Welcome HomeWhen the plane landed, I expected to, as usual, act the detached, distant, (a)pathetic person I was, leaving my buddies in uniform and avoiding all human contact. After all, it'd never failed me before, both in pace and war.But as I stepped off the causeway, I saw a face I'd only held in Polaroid for much of the past five years. There were three of them, but I could only see her, smiling with perfect white teeth as she caught sight of me.I broke from the tired line of my fellow passengers and embraced her shorter form. Some of the other servicemen gave calls of encouragement as all the strength that'd held me up as an example to my comrades through the worst times imaginable left me. All that kept me up was a young woman from the shadows of my memory, whom I showered in joyful tears.