Thread: Alone: Ch1
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Old 11-12-2008, 05:26 PM
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he carefully tucked the map into the breast pocket of his uniform and then reached into a outside pocket on his rucksack and removed a rag. It was a piece of an old t-shirt, brown, wrinkled and filthy. He wiped the sweat from his face. The rag was now streaked with dark traces of green and black camouflage paint. To him these lines where like lost roads on an ancient map. He crumpled the rag into a ball and returned it to the pocket of the rucksack. As he stooped to return it. He glanced at the blackened face staring at him grimly, its head turned back looking over its shoulder at him. One twisted arm clutching the half open door and the other arm was limply resting on the remains of the melted dashboard. Its black skeletal fingers outstretched as if pointing the way to the village. Like a silent watchman, it remained motionless. It looked strangely fake to him, as if it had never been a living person. Almost like a scarecrow that mimicked life itself. The soldier continued to look at if for a moment before pulling the map back out of his breast pocket. His head was throbbing from dehydration his muscles tightening from there brief rest. The soldier had been too concerned with getting back to his platoon to realize that his stomach was growling. He felt utterly depleted. He looked to his side and saw leaves gently being blown about by the cool wind. The evening was closing the sun sat low in the sky. The soldier squatted lightly as he shouldered his rucksack. He stood and made small adjustments to the buckles. As walked away from the wreck of the burned out sedan. The soldier pushed his rifle forward he felt the tension of the tactical sling. He continued put one foot in front of the other as he moved slowly down the sunken road. He looked back over his shoulder at the charred watchman who was doing the same. Looking back, but pointing him forward. The soldier considered the irony that he was inadvertently copying a dead man. He couldn't help but wonder how long it would be before he suffered the same fate. But Unlike the watchman the soldier was still alive. He knew he had to keep moving for night was falling fast and soon it would be too dark to read his map without using a light which would easily give away his position. He continued north with increased vigor trying to make up for the snails pace he had been reduced too. He felt better as he walked away from the wreck. The soldier patted his vest feeling the heft of the loaded magazines sheltered within there pouches as he walked toward the village. He hoped that the watchman would be the only thing he met on the road that night as he continued on.
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