- Non-Erotic
- Scrap of Hope
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Author's Notes:
Another entry for the 750 Word Project 2024, this one more specifically for EmilyMiller's Mystery Woman sub-challenge. I decided to do something different, more somber. While the events of the below story happen in the "Priscilla-verse" as it were, there is obviously lots of parallels to reality. Because its in my own little universe, I can at least explore a more intimate story around the subject without it being tied to any politics.
Would love to hear your thoughts on the story. Ultimately this one is just because I had a wild-hair. Enjoy.
Below after the title in bold, is 750 words.
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Scrap of Hope
The sores on the young soldier's feet bled through the separated welting of his boots. Declan's fingers clenched the vamp to stifle the pain, yet, looking at his comrades next to him in the back of a jalopy green truck, he felt fortunate to have boots at all.
After five months in this hellscape, misery knew no bounds. A worn pair of boots was hardly a worry when death could be tasted at every dawn. Declan himself consigned his fate to a small shred of hope and the lies of Zorn's political officers.
As he clenched his instep, his helmet fell at the feet of his comrade, who picked it up and snickered.
"Ha... what's this, been holding out on us Declan?" He cackled, looking inside the sweat-stained helmet as he showed it to the others mockingly.
"Could get a right polish off that." Another said as he grabbed the helmet with the torn woodland scrim. He made a lewd gesture as they laughed.
Declan was indignant, within the helmet was his hope, and his fellow soldier made light of it. The utter soullessness of this war, their mission, and the only thing he could hold on to they now mocked. But Declan was young and small, unlike the older boys he shared a troop with. He often was the victim of their chiding. Not five months ago he was on the streets of Bellard where they found him, sold him on the idea of glory and national pride, and had him sign on the dotted line. With a blink, he was bleeding on the front lines.
"Give it back." He muttered, clenching the faux wood stock of his weapon.
"Gotta right splinter up yer ass eh?"
"Give it back."
"Quit playing." A worn voice chimed in, directed at the undiscerning soldiers. "Shouldn't take a man's helmet in a place like this."
Their sergeant, a ragged veteran rebuked the others as they juggled Declan's helmet. He had a thousand-yard stare, expressionless.
"Give it." He ordered.
It was reluctantly passed across the bed of the truck as they bounced down the rough road.
The sergeant took a look inside, Declan could have sworn he saw the sergeant's eyes flicker with the same hope. But the emotion faded as he handed Declan back his helmet.
"It's not right to mock a man's hope."
Declan took his helmet and looked inside, taking a deep breath as he tried to dream, however futile.
Amid his daydream, the truck veered to the right.
"Hey hey hey!" One of the soldiers cried, pointing to a black spec above them that began to emanate a hellish buzz.
"Fuck! A buzzard, go go go!" They slammed their hands on the back window of the cab, the group of soldiers firing their rifles at the drone. No doubt, it was a weapon of their enemy, laden with explosives. I was a distant and honorless weapon sent from afar.
Declan fired his rifle into the sky. But he was too late, and the drone was too fast. It hit the truck, sending the soldiers of General Zorn hurdling to the ground.
All was stiff ringing and haze as Declan gathered himself.
There were screams, soldiers trying to drag lifeless comrades while others scattered like frightened animals.
Declan fled, from the road, from the chaos. More buzzing above. Milo, a soldier he had known since Bellard, was struck. The explosion transmuted him into a red mist. Men cried like babies, Declan no different as he found a ditch.
The hellish buzzing swarmed around him. He knelt in the fetal position, his worn body releasing its final hope as he quaked. Taking off his helmet he looked one last time upon the picture of the woman he carried with him, his hope.
It was no girl he knew. Simply a beauty cut from a magazine. She had dark brown hair and a curious yet welcoming expression. She wore a sheer white dress that gave a hint of her whole self beneath. He didn't know what her name was. She seemed far happier than he, walking in the green grass near to the water. But in his last moments, he imagined himself with her, with her warmth.
He was comforted by those thoughts of the mystery woman as the final buzzing met him. The swift concussive blast tore his life apart. His helmet flew from the ditch. Charred remains of her photo left for another soldier to dream of in that hopeless war.
- COMMENTS
Anonymousabout 2 months agoThe writing is very good, the leadup succinct and effective;
too damn descriptive of too many realities, though, to be enjoyable. Had hoped the scrap would be enough.
Maybe next time....
Keep writing.
Priscilla_June2 months agoAuthorThanks everyone for the wonderful feedback, and @Comentarista82 thanks so much for the well thought out feedback as well. I always value hearing from you because someone who invests so much into a comment really makes it feel special to me that the story invoked such a response. That all being said, deff noted what you are saying, lots of innately human considerations to give. I’ll keep that in mind :)
Comentarista822 months agoThe shorter ones like this are a lot tougher to evaluate, but they can be. I'll start with the super- concrete things: for one, you focus on a very narrow topic and do you resolve it? Yes. Do you describe the details necessary in order to complete that one event? Absolutely. Does your effort illustrate some type of visceral and realistic experience? Most definitely. You certainly did well on fashioning this account to fit the 750-word challenge itself. In that instance there is absolutely no doubt.
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The issue becomes Declan's symbol of hope, which was a nondescript picture of a woman he didn't know, nor could he name. This actually weakens the story greatly, as pilots in World War II regularly painted pin-up girls on the sides of their fighters as good luck charms in many instances. While this could have been any particular pin up, it's likely the pilots knew exactly who the lady was that they had painted on the sides of their planes; in many cases though, it could have simply been Betty Grable or Rita Hayworth-- as they were the two most popular pin-ups during World War II. You also have the example of going much farther back the examples of courtly love, where a knight would pledge his devotion and his deeds to a queen specifically, even though he knew that instance of courtly love would never be honored- - nor could it ever be. This is even represented in the Star Trek Next Generation episode The Defector, where a Romulan admiral defects to the Federation, hoping to get the Federation to destroy what he believes to be a Romulan base being set up on a planet inside the Neutral Zone; he actually does it for his little girl, in hopes that his actions will change Romulus and lessen their conniving and militaristic leanings- - precisely so she can grow up in a more peaceful world. Despite the fact the Romulan Tal'Shiar totally misleads him by feeding him misinformation.. the point is he does it all for his daughter. In fact, he commits suicide precisely because he knew he sacrificed everything he had for nothing in the end, but he leaves a letter for the Federation to hopefully one day deliver to her. And as far as we know, that chance might have come only about 12 years later after that incident.. but we never know if it does. The point is this having a very specific woman that somebody knows or hopes to meet strengthens the soldier's hope far more than the nameless non-descript one. In fact, the reality is that picture that was in Declan's helmet will probably never be located by any other soldier- - either because of the explosions- - or simply because of the weather. It effectively eliminates that anonymous female as a possibility of hope. I realize that could have been the very point of having an anonymous woman there, but it really hurt his chances and actually runs counter to historical examples that utilize the same type of symbol. This is why the Shawshank Redemption is such a powerful movie: Andy Dufresne only survives because he wants to escape to Zihuatanejo Mexico, because he knows he did not kill his wife. He knows he's innocent, and every little bit he takes and tolerates.. is because he's playing the long game. And that exactly is what saves him- - and even saves Red - - because he commits a parole violation to join Andy and to help him. To paraphrase what Andy said, he said something on the order of hope is a good thing, and hope is the best of things; therefore, it proves far more advantageous to make the symbol of one's hope as personal and as powerful as possible to give oneself the best edge one can.
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By the way, I don't know if you are a Rush fan, but as soon as I read possibly just into the second paragraph, The Rush song Heresy immediately started to play in my mind - - and its lyrics almost perfectly encapsulate this story.
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