Sorry I didn’t take part last week. Was just overwhelmed with several things and couldn’t get it together long enough to write a blog post. But here I am, so better than not being here, I’m sure.
I’ll take this week’s snippet from where the previous one (here) left off. It’s taken from a WIP called ‘A Good Day to Die’. Please note that this snippet is more an extract. I’ll be back to the standard length next week.
He had stood at the entrance to the dugout, watching, waiting. Then, finally, the rain had arrived. Hard, pelting drops. So many that the land beyond became invisible. The dry, sandy, parched land. He had taken one step forward and lifted his face to the rain, eyes open. Had he welcomed the pain from the raindrops hitting his eyeballs? He wasn’t sure anymore. The thunder rumbled the ground every few minutes, but he barely noticed it.
The downpour had continued on for the rest of the day. Even now, as he sat inside, staring at his hands, he could hear the pounding of the drops on the ground above, feel the vibrations travel through the ground as the atoms crashed together in the atmosphere. But he wasn’t paying attention to them anymore. The darkness had descended. Before him, on the table, lay his blaster. Plasma. He wouldn’t feel a thing. At least, that’s what all his victims in the past had not said. Death would be instantaneous.
Slowly the man reached for the gun. He drew it towards him and turned it over in his hands. There weren’t really any thoughts going through his mind. In a way, he didn’t want to die, but he didn’t see a future for himself.
If anything crossed his mind, it was those two words. The ones that had reverberated around his skull for the last month. They’d followed him from the offices of his superiors – men who saw him only as an object of war – and an expendable one at that – across the swells of gravity to this world on the opposite side of the galaxy.
Words he never wanted to hear again. Words that left him no future.
With a sudden sense of purpose – or perhaps it was resignation – he hefted the weapon in his right hand and lifted it, placing the business end against his right temple. The instrument of death vibrated in his hand, as though eager to get to work.
His eyelids dropped closed as if to prematurely cut him off from the world around him. Now he was truly alone in his body.
He depressed the trigger patch.
That’s all for this week, folks. Please go to the SFFS blog and see what the other writers have chosen to share this week.
Thank you for stopping by.