thatcrazyguy
03-01-2011, 09:53 AM
Wow, first post. nervous.
Okay, so this was a short story I originally wrote as preperation for QCS at school, the theme was time, and many different elements based from time. I of course have handed the story in, but I actually rewrote it at home from memory. I have intentionally left the story slightly confusing, and I dearly hope some of the readers pick up some of the temes and messages I've put in, and how I've tried to tell them from this perspective!
So be kind, I like writing, but I'm not always good at it, and this was definitly an experiment for me, because I don't often write in a style like this.
If anyone actually likes it...I'd like to keep writing in this universe, eleborate on the world somewhat. Anyway, my first post here, and my first story, so I hope you guys like it. Thanks!
I have also undoubtedly made some gramatical errors, please forgive these, I will get around to fixing them!
Now, for your pleasure, I present:
The Soldier
He sat in his office, dark and unhappy. A feeling of melancholy draped over him like a thick blanket. He looked over at the wall, into the mirror and saw himself. Grey stubble, iron flecked temples and hair like steel wool. 253 years old. He shuddered and turned away, the image made him think of his own mortality. He had a good 40 years left if he was lucky. He looked at the frame on his desk. A tall, strong figure stood proudly, long black great coat draped casually over his shoulders, an officers cap perched neatly on his head. He looked at the image, and the soldier sighed. 253 years old, but only in body. His concious..his concious was over a millennia in age. Over a thousand years worth of memories locked away in his conciousness, he could feel them, he knew them. But he could not remember them, this body had no experience of them.
The soldier sighed once more as he stared at his younger self. He was going to do it again, this he knew. He sat back in his chair. He could hear pounding outside, a random soothing and far off. He closed his eyes, and breathed slowly, deeply. He could see the memory in his mind. He was only 42 years old. So very young, his whole life still far ahead of him. He was signing papers for a pretty smiling hostess. These papers would be the final documents before he could step onto that shuttle, the shuttle which would take him to a new planet, Sigma 4. To start fresh, new. The soldier sighed again and held his breath. His concious reached out and grasped his memory by the throat and pulled. There was a moment of pure stillness and quietness, and the Soldier opened his eyes.
He stood staring at the papers. He looked up at the stewardess, pretty and smiling. He knew what was coming, his mind had no memory of it all, and never will, but he could feel it, his concious remembered. Like a flood, a thousand years of memory hit him at once, he saw death and destruction, happiness and despair, the graves of innumerable women, one for every life he had. It was gone as fast as it had came. He had only 42 years of memory, and yet suddenly his felt his life had been much longer. Deep in his subconscious, he knew of all many different lives, he could feel the memories..but his mind could not. They had never happened. The papers signed and he began to walk towards the shuttle, Sigma 4 he thought. A beginning to his life, he could be anything, a builder, a carpenter, an entrepreneur. He smiled, in wonderment of what future may come, and stepped into the shuttle.
Dust trickled down from the concrete ceiling of the bunker, the thunder of shell after shell landing somewhere far up above. He sat in the chair, brooding. He was in a deep depression, as he always did when he reaches this point in his life. His brain did not know, it had no memories, but his concious remembered. This was always how it was going to be. No matter what the Soldier did, it always ended the same. He could feel it, he felt the Carpenter, he felt the Rich man, the Poor man, he could feel the Labourer, the Entrepreneur. He could not remember being them, but his concious did. He could feel it. No matter what path he chose, no matter what road his life travelled, or two what planet he had later moved, he always returned to Sigma 4, and always became the Soldier.
His brain was confused. It was trying to understand his depression, the welling anger inside him. It did not know, but it was ignorant, ignorant to his concious. It held him in his perpetual state of emotional instability, because it knew better then he did. He at first joined. After that, they always ended up finding him, he always ended up being drafted, even when he was Rich, quicker when he was Poor. But, the Soldier he is now and the Soldier he always became. He rubbed his eyes. 104 years of age, he was in the prime of his life. His mind knew this, so it told him to stand, told him to go for a walk. Maybe that will make him feel better. He decided to listen. He walked out of bunker, and into the trench. He looked around, it only made him worse. This time his depression was ground in reality. But, his mind conceded, at least here it new why he was unstable. The trench is 12 metres deep, five metres wide. Soldiers could only see over its lip by climbing the massive ramparts. There where thousands of bunkers like his littered in the walls of the trench. The war on Sigma 4 would never end, this he somehow knew. The planet was the largest found by man, all the cities of earth would cover a fraction of its surface. The surface – that was a barren wasteland. No grass, no animals, no trees. Just red sand, mixed with rain and storms. The Soldier hated it, he hated this place. It was supposed to be a new beginning. He was 104 years of age now, the war had been going on for the past 20. It would never end, this he knew, this they all knew. The war was fought between the Commonwealth of Man and the Republic of man. Dozens of planets in there control, he thought, and it was all fought here. Why? He spat. He hated thinking about it, it made him worse. Barren on the surface, priceless within. Sigma 4 was one big chunk of ore. It was littered with countless precious metals, some even undocumented by man. You could dig a metre deep hole and have enough metal to be considered rich on any other planet. Every. Square. Inch. Metal. But no one ever won, there where no victories. Even behind the front lines, even under the trenches themselves mines and refineries worked. Even as they fought enough metal was produced to equip the armies, while still turning a profit. It was the perfect stalemate, attrition was no longer a factor. He looked down the trench. Barracks' where built into the walls, and a tank column could drive down its centre. The trench systems where cities all of there own, a million soldiers lived and inhabited a mere kilometre stretch. He heard a new rumbling, close by, the smell of vile fuel, synthesised from the new metals discovered on this planet. He looked up. Ah. Another attack. Dozens of tanks spewed over the top of the trench, twice the length as the trench is wide, the iron monstrosities roared across with ease, bristling with untold guns. The Soldier sigh again, it would never work, it never does. This is the perfect stalemate.
He wandered back to his bunker, and sat down, brooding in his dark thoughts again. Why, his concious told him, did he always do it? He for once didn't know, or rather, couldn't feel it. He could not feel the very first time he had done it. His feelings rolled around to the questions they always asked at this point. Why can I do it? Where did I get this..”Ability”? Why do I keep doing it? I always end up here, always in this chair, in this war, why do I always comeback? He did not know, he couldn't feel the answers, and his mind reeled back in confusion. “Do what?” it asked. He couldn't say. He didn't know either. He slumped back in his chair, and closed his eye, lulled to sleep by the deep rumble of the tanks travelling over head and enemy artillery shaking the earth above.
He sighed, and turned in his chair. Sitting in his dark office, far from the front lines in the relative safety of one of Sigma 4's major cities. He had been relocated here, but he could still see the war as he turned and peered out the wall length window. Orange glows pulsing in the stormy night. He noticed his reflection in the glass. Grey stubble, iron temples, steel wool hair. He was old, 253 years of age. He might have another 50 left in him if he was lucky. He turned away from the image, repulsed. It scared him, filled him with a sense of his own mortality. He looked at the image on the frame of his desk. A younger him, strong and firm, standing tall in his coveralls. His time as a mechanic. Before he was drafted all those years ago. He sighed and leant back in his chair. Wondering if he could have done something different and not get noticed by one of the drafts. The Soldier felt. He could not feel the Salesman. He only hoped he remembered. Remember what? His mind was confused.
He sighed, an act he was so prone to do. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, slowing his breath. He pictured the memory, standing before the shuttle, signing the last needed document. Ah. His mind understood this.
The Soldier concious reached out, a long slender arm and wrapped its fingers around his memories neck.
It pulled, he felt pure stillness, he could hear the pure silence. He opened his eyes.
Okay, so this was a short story I originally wrote as preperation for QCS at school, the theme was time, and many different elements based from time. I of course have handed the story in, but I actually rewrote it at home from memory. I have intentionally left the story slightly confusing, and I dearly hope some of the readers pick up some of the temes and messages I've put in, and how I've tried to tell them from this perspective!
So be kind, I like writing, but I'm not always good at it, and this was definitly an experiment for me, because I don't often write in a style like this.
If anyone actually likes it...I'd like to keep writing in this universe, eleborate on the world somewhat. Anyway, my first post here, and my first story, so I hope you guys like it. Thanks!
I have also undoubtedly made some gramatical errors, please forgive these, I will get around to fixing them!
Now, for your pleasure, I present:
The Soldier
He sat in his office, dark and unhappy. A feeling of melancholy draped over him like a thick blanket. He looked over at the wall, into the mirror and saw himself. Grey stubble, iron flecked temples and hair like steel wool. 253 years old. He shuddered and turned away, the image made him think of his own mortality. He had a good 40 years left if he was lucky. He looked at the frame on his desk. A tall, strong figure stood proudly, long black great coat draped casually over his shoulders, an officers cap perched neatly on his head. He looked at the image, and the soldier sighed. 253 years old, but only in body. His concious..his concious was over a millennia in age. Over a thousand years worth of memories locked away in his conciousness, he could feel them, he knew them. But he could not remember them, this body had no experience of them.
The soldier sighed once more as he stared at his younger self. He was going to do it again, this he knew. He sat back in his chair. He could hear pounding outside, a random soothing and far off. He closed his eyes, and breathed slowly, deeply. He could see the memory in his mind. He was only 42 years old. So very young, his whole life still far ahead of him. He was signing papers for a pretty smiling hostess. These papers would be the final documents before he could step onto that shuttle, the shuttle which would take him to a new planet, Sigma 4. To start fresh, new. The soldier sighed again and held his breath. His concious reached out and grasped his memory by the throat and pulled. There was a moment of pure stillness and quietness, and the Soldier opened his eyes.
He stood staring at the papers. He looked up at the stewardess, pretty and smiling. He knew what was coming, his mind had no memory of it all, and never will, but he could feel it, his concious remembered. Like a flood, a thousand years of memory hit him at once, he saw death and destruction, happiness and despair, the graves of innumerable women, one for every life he had. It was gone as fast as it had came. He had only 42 years of memory, and yet suddenly his felt his life had been much longer. Deep in his subconscious, he knew of all many different lives, he could feel the memories..but his mind could not. They had never happened. The papers signed and he began to walk towards the shuttle, Sigma 4 he thought. A beginning to his life, he could be anything, a builder, a carpenter, an entrepreneur. He smiled, in wonderment of what future may come, and stepped into the shuttle.
Dust trickled down from the concrete ceiling of the bunker, the thunder of shell after shell landing somewhere far up above. He sat in the chair, brooding. He was in a deep depression, as he always did when he reaches this point in his life. His brain did not know, it had no memories, but his concious remembered. This was always how it was going to be. No matter what the Soldier did, it always ended the same. He could feel it, he felt the Carpenter, he felt the Rich man, the Poor man, he could feel the Labourer, the Entrepreneur. He could not remember being them, but his concious did. He could feel it. No matter what path he chose, no matter what road his life travelled, or two what planet he had later moved, he always returned to Sigma 4, and always became the Soldier.
His brain was confused. It was trying to understand his depression, the welling anger inside him. It did not know, but it was ignorant, ignorant to his concious. It held him in his perpetual state of emotional instability, because it knew better then he did. He at first joined. After that, they always ended up finding him, he always ended up being drafted, even when he was Rich, quicker when he was Poor. But, the Soldier he is now and the Soldier he always became. He rubbed his eyes. 104 years of age, he was in the prime of his life. His mind knew this, so it told him to stand, told him to go for a walk. Maybe that will make him feel better. He decided to listen. He walked out of bunker, and into the trench. He looked around, it only made him worse. This time his depression was ground in reality. But, his mind conceded, at least here it new why he was unstable. The trench is 12 metres deep, five metres wide. Soldiers could only see over its lip by climbing the massive ramparts. There where thousands of bunkers like his littered in the walls of the trench. The war on Sigma 4 would never end, this he somehow knew. The planet was the largest found by man, all the cities of earth would cover a fraction of its surface. The surface – that was a barren wasteland. No grass, no animals, no trees. Just red sand, mixed with rain and storms. The Soldier hated it, he hated this place. It was supposed to be a new beginning. He was 104 years of age now, the war had been going on for the past 20. It would never end, this he knew, this they all knew. The war was fought between the Commonwealth of Man and the Republic of man. Dozens of planets in there control, he thought, and it was all fought here. Why? He spat. He hated thinking about it, it made him worse. Barren on the surface, priceless within. Sigma 4 was one big chunk of ore. It was littered with countless precious metals, some even undocumented by man. You could dig a metre deep hole and have enough metal to be considered rich on any other planet. Every. Square. Inch. Metal. But no one ever won, there where no victories. Even behind the front lines, even under the trenches themselves mines and refineries worked. Even as they fought enough metal was produced to equip the armies, while still turning a profit. It was the perfect stalemate, attrition was no longer a factor. He looked down the trench. Barracks' where built into the walls, and a tank column could drive down its centre. The trench systems where cities all of there own, a million soldiers lived and inhabited a mere kilometre stretch. He heard a new rumbling, close by, the smell of vile fuel, synthesised from the new metals discovered on this planet. He looked up. Ah. Another attack. Dozens of tanks spewed over the top of the trench, twice the length as the trench is wide, the iron monstrosities roared across with ease, bristling with untold guns. The Soldier sigh again, it would never work, it never does. This is the perfect stalemate.
He wandered back to his bunker, and sat down, brooding in his dark thoughts again. Why, his concious told him, did he always do it? He for once didn't know, or rather, couldn't feel it. He could not feel the very first time he had done it. His feelings rolled around to the questions they always asked at this point. Why can I do it? Where did I get this..”Ability”? Why do I keep doing it? I always end up here, always in this chair, in this war, why do I always comeback? He did not know, he couldn't feel the answers, and his mind reeled back in confusion. “Do what?” it asked. He couldn't say. He didn't know either. He slumped back in his chair, and closed his eye, lulled to sleep by the deep rumble of the tanks travelling over head and enemy artillery shaking the earth above.
He sighed, and turned in his chair. Sitting in his dark office, far from the front lines in the relative safety of one of Sigma 4's major cities. He had been relocated here, but he could still see the war as he turned and peered out the wall length window. Orange glows pulsing in the stormy night. He noticed his reflection in the glass. Grey stubble, iron temples, steel wool hair. He was old, 253 years of age. He might have another 50 left in him if he was lucky. He turned away from the image, repulsed. It scared him, filled him with a sense of his own mortality. He looked at the image on the frame of his desk. A younger him, strong and firm, standing tall in his coveralls. His time as a mechanic. Before he was drafted all those years ago. He sighed and leant back in his chair. Wondering if he could have done something different and not get noticed by one of the drafts. The Soldier felt. He could not feel the Salesman. He only hoped he remembered. Remember what? His mind was confused.
He sighed, an act he was so prone to do. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, slowing his breath. He pictured the memory, standing before the shuttle, signing the last needed document. Ah. His mind understood this.
The Soldier concious reached out, a long slender arm and wrapped its fingers around his memories neck.
It pulled, he felt pure stillness, he could hear the pure silence. He opened his eyes.