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 Posted: Sun Nov 23, 2008 10:43 am
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Posted: Sun Nov 23, 2008 10:58 am
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Posted: Sun Dec 21, 2008 10:26 pm
Quest time!
My dear, you're such a gentleman! Now, one might accuse you of being a chauvinist, but they might also be the ones tossing red paint on fur coats. Regardless of what you are, darling, I want you to remember who you once were.
In a series of nightmares, please comfort Quincy after he suffers memories of the horrors of wartime. Spanning at least three dreams, have Quincy remember, in bits and pieces or in full sequences, certain events that he may have experienced during his past life. They shouldn't be TOO graphic; we don't want to be scarring the poor thing too early! Nor should they be too revealing of exactly who Quincy was, ie. using names, squad numbers, etc.
Best of luck, my puppy!
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Posted: Mon Dec 22, 2008 5:59 am
||Quest Part I - Chain Home||
[ and when my pack seems more than i can h o l d ]
“I hear the song of a little bluebird calling in my ear” A strong voice carried through the halls, echoing slightly yet the voice was familiar and Quincy was at ease as he sat in the hanger by what he felt was his small trainer plane. A word popped into his head as he looked from wing to tail and suddenly he knew more than he should, ‘Crab’. The plane was nicknamed a crab, Avro 504 training aircraft. And he’s been in one, thousands of times.
“She’s singing ‘There’ll be bluebirds over, the white cliffs of Dover’,” The voice switched tone and turned into a small tune as one James Edwardson waltzed into the Crab Hanger, invisible lady holding close as he spun her round. A small interlude of humming left Quincy’s chest burning as he chuckled in companionship.
“There’ll be love and laughter, and peace ever after.” Another humming interlude and added in his own two cents once the song reached a “And Jimmy will go to sleep in his own little room again.”
“Just you wait and see” James ginned and passed his invisible partner to Quincy as he took his turn spinning her around the grungy hangar floor.
“Clancy, good to see you!” James barked out laughing as soon as Quincy’s humming stopped in a fit of laughter. And it was a bit odd because he knew that his name was Quincy, not Clancy, but something felt right about it and it sat kindly on his mind. The two men leant up against the Crab in comfortable companionship an secretive knowing.
“So what is this about a Bluebird? You wouldn’t happen to be thinking of on WAAF girl, would you?” Clancy, Quincy at this point is didn’t really matter as greasy arms stretched out before him undoing kinks that had settled in his back from sitting on the cold floor getting his last look at what carried him through the air for so many nights. “This wouldn’t be Susan would it?”
A knowing nod had Clancy giving the older man next to him a slap on the back. He’d known how long Jimmy and one fresh and new WAAF had been getting along for several months. Letters, meetings, small outings, they had a small relation going on that had many of the fresh faced RAF boys, such as Clancy himself, talking and hopeful that the war won’t be all bad.
“She even said that if we both get out of the war alive we’ll both probably make a life together somewhere.” James was grinning like a boy on Christmas causing Clancy to give a not so adult chuckle before wiping his brow with a grease-blackened hand.
“I know you head out to the front tomorrow.” A hand was placed on Clancy’s shoulder and he looked up James with understanding framing his face.
“Well, not exactly. We head to London for a while, cool down and relax before we head out to the actual front.”
“Be careful, Clance.” James said as he looked back towards the Crab. “Snappers are climbing up every night and they’re already after our Home Chain radars.”
“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be yuppying it up while I can. Fine drinks, good music.” Clancy looked out at the airfield. “You keep here and make sure your Squadron’s as good as mine.”
“Hey, watch your tongue when making unnecessary statements about the 113 Squadron.” James pointed jokingly as he chuckled behind a fist.
“And you don’t say anything about my 112, okay?”
“You just watch yourself out there, Pilot.”
“Not yet, Jim.” Clancy rubbed his shoulder where rank is listed on his BDU. “That’s tomorrow, still a cadet until then.”
“Isn’t the thicker band still on your battle dress blues?” James asked knowingly before throwing a nut at the young pilot. “Get out of this mess hole and do me proud, Clancy.”
Clancy stopped from his path of fleeing flying metal objects and turned around as the air suddenly became still.
“Can, do Jim.” Something crossed James face as Clancy smiled bravely back.
“Clancy. I want to show you Susan, and… you know. Kids and stuff after this is over.” A worry frown crossed his old friends face and Clancy had to bite a lip before something too moist for a young pilot left his eyes. “While you’re out there don’t get bo-… watch youself.”
There was a short pause before Clancy brought himself to attention, full salute that would make any lieutenant proud. James smiled sadly and loosely returned that salute and watched as Clancy left.
The world turned dark and suddenly there wasn’t any companionship left in the cold area. Clancy was gone, gone off to London Town before he was to be deployed, that much Quincy knew. But he was stuck here as Quincy, dog tail, puppy ears, sharp sense of colors and scent. But no one could see him and suddenly he was scared. He saw the letter presumably in Clancy’s hands, read over it but couldn’t understand how someone was gone just like that. Instead it was like a bad movie, lines of age breaking up the picture and he heard the shrill cries.
Bombs. The sounds that the German planes would make as they flew closer to the ground, like a banshee before a ringing whistle and then nothing. Once the ringing lessened you could feel the rumbling and hear the roaring explosion. He saw James at his post with Susan at the Radar tower that made up Britain’s Chain Home, remembered him once saying to Clancy as they looked out over the tall white towers “These radar’s are our guardian angels.” And it hurt. Out of all the towers, one was brought down and James had to be in it.
The dropping of bombs had never been so loud and Quincy covered his ears as he frantically looked for his friend, or Clancy’s friend. He saw the word ‘passed’ in neat cursive as the list of the dead was given to Clancy. Susan Walter, WAAF, James Edwardson, RAF. He felt his heart clench and he saw James running from somewhere by the tower a name high on his lungs and suddenly there was another sound, more ringing and more shrieking and it wouldn’t stop. Under it all her heard James call out again, and again until the ringing was too much and suddenly there was nothing.
Quincy still heard the ringing when he bolted out of bed, blanket dragging behind him, tail low nigh in between his legs, as he ran towards the master bed room and all he could think about was ‘DadDadDad’ and he rocketed into Aarons bed clinging to the closest appendage.
“Quincy, what?” A startled but very sleepy Aaron looked down at the young thing attached to his leg shaking and… was he crying. “Quince. Quincy, what is it, love?” Aaron shushed as he pulled the boy up and into a strong embrace.
“I-I…I don’t want y.y.you to pass.” Quincy let out with a small sob as he burrowed further into his father’s arms, his scent and comfort of a pack. His tail shivered and quaked as Quincy clung harder to Aaron. “And Jack!”
Quincy sat stock straight staring up at Aaron with wide bi-colored eyes. “Jack! He can’t go anywhere either!” Quincy stood to run and check on the tiny orange blob called a baby brother but Aaron held him tight.
“Quince, Jack’s alright. I need you to calm down and be strong for me okay?” Quincy nodded into Aaron’s shoulder, taking the order like any other cadet. James would have been a pilot too, soon enough. “It’s okay, it was just a dream. I think we should stop watching James Bond for a while.”
Quincy shook his head. That wasn’t it. This was different. “No dad. It’s different. Like the books.”
“Sherlock Holmes?”
Again Quincy shook his head vigorously. “Like Quentin Anenson.”
“Oh, world war two.” Aaron thought as he rubbed Quincy’s back. “Well, no one in this household is going to… to pass. Okay?”
“But Jack. He’s tiny and and…squishy.”
Aaron couldn’t help but smile at Quincy’s need to check on his younger brother and pulled him up and out of bed, setting him on the floor.
“We’ll go check on Jack together, okay?” Quincy gave a firm nod and Aaron picked him up, letting the small boy cling to his nightshirt. “You have to promise to keep quiet because he’s a terror to put to bed.”
“He doesn’t like the bars on his crib.” Quincy stated solemnly and let Aaron carry him to Jack’s room.
The baby, squish ball was intact and snoring slightly from his sprawled out position. Quincy grinned as Aaron put him down in the dark room. The boy padded over and climbed onto the bars quietly. Reaching through he lightly patted the small alien’s hair and leaned in before kissing him softly on the forehead like Aaron did to him at night. Quincy grinned before hopping down and looking up at his dad in a ‘did I do good?’ fashion before he was picked up once more and brought to the kitchen.
“You okay, Quincy?” Aaron asked, as he pulled out two mugs for hot chocolate. The microwave clock read a bleary 2:30 as it cut through the dim kitchen light.
He put both mugs in the microwave with water and set the timer before sitting across from Quincy.
The boy simply traced his finger along the wooden grain before looking up at Aaron, hazel and brown eyes looking a little different from what they once were.“Dad… What’s a bluebird?”
“Well. It’s the name on the tin. Blue bird is a blue bird.”
“No… A bluebird. Like in my book?”
“Not Sherlock Holmes.” Aaron chuckled as he spread out his hands in front of him. “Well… Bluebird was a name the Royal Air Force used to address a woman from the Woman’s Auxilary Air Force, or WAAF. They helped with the radar to tell the fighter pilots where the enemy planes were.”
“Were they nice?” Quincy asked with a small smile.
“Very nice, and very brave.” Aaron grinned broadly. “And veeerrry smart. They heard all the readings and had to put down little markers on a big map to show where the planes were.”
“Wouldn’t they get confused?” Quincy asked as he visualized Susan, standing in a small room moving chips. Like a movie.
“They were very smart, Quince.” Aaron reiterated as he got up to get the mugs for hot chocolate.
“Then that means Susan was brave and not scared?” Quincy asked with a tiny bit of hope. He looked at Aaron hard with all the seriousness his young mind could conjure. Aaron had a tiny feeling that this had to do with Quincy’s nightmare and wondered how the boy was able to absorb that much graphic information from his WWII book. Instead of asking he went with it and grinned as he set down Quincy’s bright blue mug before him.
“I bet you Susan was very brave and not the least bit scared.” Aaron tousled Quincy’s hair as he took a small sip of the hot chocolate and looked a little bit more contented than the shaken mess he used to be. Quincy gave a small smile and a yawn.
“Okay. We’ll finish our hot chocolate and then it’s straight back to bed.” Aaron said and he thought of how tired he was going to be in the morning. “And you don’t breathe a word of hot chocolate to Jack, he’ll get very jealous.”
“Yes, sir!” Quincy said with a little enthusiasm.
“That’s my little trooper.”
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Posted: Mon Dec 22, 2008 7:46 am
||A Playdate on the Prominade||
[ but, baby it's cold o u t s i d e ]
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Posted: Tue Dec 23, 2008 12:48 pm
A basket arrives just a few days short of Christmas, in the same manner as the basket that had originally arrived with the request to be filled. Many goodies are inside! Quote: 
Canary Toy - A small stuffed canary with blue button eyes.
An Old Sock - Because, deep down, we all know we love old socks and the way they smell.
Kite - An immediate gratification to the longing of flight.
Bouncing Ball - They're as fun as chasing your tail!
Goggles - Because every good pilot has to have a pair all their own. Happy holidays!
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Posted: Wed Dec 31, 2008 9:04 am
|| Playdate with Maggie ||
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Posted: Sat Jan 03, 2009 9:01 pm
||Quest Part II - Ace|| [ m'aidez, this is no m ' a i d e z ]
Days had passed since Quincy’s dream, bombs falling on his head, the ghastly whistling still stinging his ears. And while hot chocolate was quite a delectable drink and Quincy was still sure it had mystical healing powers, some things he couldn’t shake, and the scent of the burning… something. He couldn’t’ quite place it now and as he tried to think back to the dream there were a few things he couldn’t remember. Where he had once had frightening clarity and mild discomfort that the scents, sights and sounds were very familiar. Yet, he tried to recall names, ranks and numbers but only drew faces. They were kind and stinging in remembrance of hurt form, more than falling off a swing or skinning his knee. This was a deeper hurt and Quincy couldn’t place any of it. Noticeably, the boy was troubled. He sat with a quarto sized illustrated guide for a simple Sherlock Holmes story and set out coat and goggles that had mysteriously appeared around the house, he was sure that he did not know who they belonged to but Quincy could only keep Luc a secret for so long, and took to staring at the sky.
The new treasures had Jack very contented, as they tended to end up under the raised crib. The sock he held special connection with. Quincy tolerated besides feeling slightly aggravated. He had already captured the scent from the sock, finding it both familiar and a bit new. Still it was from Luc, the entire basket reeked, in the best meaning of the verb, of the other boy. The canary plush sat to Mr. Baa, effectively named Watson and both bouncing ball and kite had been retrieved from under the alien’s crib. The sock…was nowhere to be found and Quincy was convinced that Jack had eaten it.
So as the boy sat by the window in his room, attempting to ignore the orange fudge ball that was demanding attention via tail-pulling, he couldn’t help feel lost. He could draw with significant detail the plane he was working on and even tell you roughly what did what, in a kiddified version of course. Yet, his name was lost on his tongue and something inside was pushing for him to forget. So by the tenth yank on his tail by the babbling baby he couldn’t be blamed for chomping his teeth shut with an audible click and bat the boy on the head ending with a face full of fur. Jack was not the least bit amused and somehow it would be okay to gum down hard on the tail before him.
And Quincy wailed like he’d never felt anything so horrible, granted it was an exaggeration and most of it was pent up frustration. In response, Jack held his ears and began to wail just as loud, however screechy given his size. It was almost comical except for one boy was sobbing while the other yelling out of frustration. Needless to say it was a long ride and the crash was bound to happen. So, when Aaron double-timed it into his eldest son’s room to say he was surprised would be a very large lie. This knowledge of course did not disregard of irritation he was feeling of the tense situation for the budding family. They had been going along so well until that first night in which Quincy lost it over what was a very vivid dream. How would a toddler know so much about acronyms and bombing? He thought he just liked the fighter plane pictures.
Regardless, he shrugged and took a deep breath. “OI!” He called out and both boys stopped their screaming to stare shocked at their father, each on a held breath. “None of that hollering. You two will act like gentlemen or there will be no dessert for a week.”
In all honesty Quincy didn’t really care about the desert. He detested chocolate and didn’t quite have a feasible appetite as of late anyway. The boy merely shrugged and at a very odd turn of character he glared at his father and bit his bottom lip before saying. “I don’t care.”
Jack, surprised raised a brow in a very not baby motion and gave Quincy what was little brother speak for ‘are you crazy’. Little did the family know Jack was trying to relay. ‘Damn, son he’s going to skin you alive. Don’t be a fricktard’. Possibly a little less eloquent. The message however, was definitely translated because as soon as Quincy responded he immediately regretted it. Before he could utter an apology Aaron had already crossed his arms.
“Quincy Sherlock McCormick.” Aaron demanded in a stern tone. Jack was even cringing. “You, little soldier will head over to that bed and take a much needed nap. You will not talk back to me.”
Quincy hung his head and turned his gaze back to the window for a fleeting moment.
“I expect a response, Quincy.”
To this command Quincy hopped off the settee and stood nervously. “ Yessir.”
“Now what do we say?”
“I’m sorry, sir.” Quincy said sincerely, world giving a dip as Aaron bent to pick up the orange ball that was a cowering Jack. “I won’t do it again.”
“So you say. Now go take that nap and we’ll have a talk later.”
And without a second word, Aaron was out of the room and the door was shut behind him.
Wearily Quincy trudged over to his bed and followed orders to lay restlessly in his bed. What surprised him, in the most unaware thought process as he laid his head on the pillow; someone’s shouting voice was almost beckoning him into unconsciousness.
---
The light was harsh and air was definitely beginning to thin around his face as he delved through the roaring air, finger pressing into the trigger as he grit his teeth to take the kickback his tiny plane had to give. Targets flew in smoke and flame before hitting the ground with an unheard sound as he swept the sky, keeping an eye on the elevation and direction. However with the sky as overcast as it was, it would be a miracle if he gets back to ground, let alone base, alive.
Right now he should be thanking all his lucky saints that the bullets had missed him and his vessel but the radio kept buzzing in his ear as a constant reminder for the death trap he was stuck in. Fingers ached from holding the throttle and trigger, wheel or shift whichever is preferred, and he couldn’t help but relax the tense joints and relieve his squinted eyes to take a look at the clouded heavens he was breaching. The weather was by no means significant, bright rays of sin did not part the clouds in a heavenly fashion. In fact it was more akin to the overcast day that got everyone on nerve, not raining but looks like it should at any moment. Everyone was waiting for a reprieve but it refused to come and so they slogged through like they had no choice.
It was freedom or death and after all of Europe had fallen red their one tiny island roared up greater than any majestic lion and said ‘no, not this land’. So they brought on the RAF, planes being imported in from across the ocean, put together with haste and even old planes were converted. Freight crafts, used for lifting and moving of large material morphed into a powerful bombing force seemingly overnight. Every day there were entire troops of RAF pilots seeking to do their job despite the odds of one third never finding their way back home.
All of this information, buzzed and charged the air as Quincy found himself in a fuzzy cockpit, goggles tight on his face as he ate ground at speeds unthinkable until this amazing aircraft. He couldn’t help but grin, feeling the face he was occupying twitch in response as he watched through foreign eyes.
Everything was brighter here, more vivid despite the sepia toned world beneath him. He looked out tentatively seeing cities and buildings below slowly dwindle until there was nothing but open fields for miles. The occasional farmhouse and barn barely even registered while he kept close to the edge of the cloud. To the rest of his team he was breaking formation, Quincy felt as if in a joyride despite the radio static filled voice in his ear. That was until he thought he saw something ahead.
It was a clouded shape, dark and stranded along made by many things. Planes, he soon realized as he watched and felt the other take over. He wanted to press against the glass; blackened nose leaving marks of moisture while the other took over. But, something was stopping him and he no longer had control of his body. Hands itched to hold onto something as the sensation of falling took over. The other had hit the thrust to land him above the clouds. Beneath them a strand of enemy fighters broke formation and peeled off after them.
The joy ride was over as he pressed into the throttle before skillfully sending the plane up and over as he turned to face the enemy, meaning to flank the stream of fighters. It was their plan, his platoon and the rest of the cadets had continued this technique, the ones low on ammo would draw the fighters out while those with plenty firepower came from the behind and sides. It is what kept them from falling into statistics. Quincy jumped non-corporeally in the others skin as a rush of static came over the headset. He flailed in attempts to stop enemy bullets from hitting the plane, knowing but not quite understanding that he was doing nothing. So instead he gripped himself as the other gunned down an enemy ship.
“Congratulations, Clancy you’ve made an Ace.” He heard over the static of the radio. It was followed by distracted laughter and Quincy felt himself giggle as well. Use of radio during combat was not exactly smiled upon, especially if it’s from pilot to pilot. Quincy felt Clancy, as the man had said which set off a weird feeling of familiarity, pull his concentrated face into a small grin and let his ears heat up.
“Alright, Tango 133, return home before you run out of fuel.” Another voice, deeper than the boy who spoke before crackled into Quincy’s ears, causing him to wince. Must be the leader of the flight service.
“Tango 133 returning to base.” Clancy chorused along with his other teammates before swiftly moving the plane to head back to his country and his home.
Quincy couldn’t help but feel the adrenaline of victory course through his muscles, tail wagging as he hopped up and down like a giddy schoolboy. He felt it, the sense of accomplishment blooming in his chest and he couldn’t play it down. That is until the thundering sound of enemy gunfire and the shouting of the man who had just complimented the other.
From within the confining space of the c**k pit Quincy could feel the air go dead and Clancy hurriedly looked around the windshield surrounding him. The radio crackled ‘M’Aidez, M’aidez’ a cry for help as the plane bloomed out smoke from the now dilapidated wing. The sensation and nausea of spinning hammered itself into Quincy’s skull, ears flattening into his hair as he looked up with the pilot.
With quick movements Clancy ran the plane around, firing at the lone enemy plane with pain pricking at his heart as he heard his comrade fall until the radio cut out from the rapid depression. The enemy plane soon joined him at the ground to crash into some abandoned field.
And suddenly the floor gave way and Quincy soared to the ground, feeling wind rushing past his face and through his ears. The boy flailed until he too met something hard and solid.
With a start Quincy jumped from his place on the floor, Aaron rushing into his room with a worried cry.
“Quincy?” He called as he ran over and picked the trembling boy up. “Another bad dream?”
Quincy looked up with bright bi colored eyes. Color entered his life once more causing the world to spin. Suddenly he gripped back onto Aaron, face pushing into his chest as he sniffled.
“I was falling and there were planes and shooting.” He muttered, a feeling of ease seeping into his tense body allowing him to relax briefly, laying his ear over Aaron’s heartbeat. “Can I go see Jack again?” He asked looking up at Aaron.
The guardian nodded, releasing Quincy and watching worriedly as the boy stepped into the hallway towards the younger boy’s room. Aaron followed shortly after reminding himself to put away the WWII book tonight. When he stepped in the doorframe Quincy had already climbed into Jack’s crib and fallen asleep curled protectively around him.
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Posted: Fri Jan 09, 2009 9:56 pm
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Posted: Fri Jan 09, 2009 9:57 pm
||Quest Part III - To The Last Dance||
[ i'll take you out of harm's w a y ]
He really couldn’t help himself as one Quincy Sherlock McCormick climbed quietly onto the couch with his large book on World War II, Battle for Europe. Yes, Aaron had taken it away and put it in his hiding spot thus meaning it was off limits. It was not, by any choice of matter, Quincy’s fault that his guardian’s choice place to hide things was in the seldom used microwave and Quincy just so happened to be observant at the right times. Images have been swirling in his head but were quickly loosing their features such as eye color and scents. Needless to say this was discomforting as it was and Quincy thought he would drown in sepia toned images with Glenn Miller serenading into the night. Yet, despite the lack of memory concerning these oddly familiar dreams things would stick. He could rattle off what the RAF ranks were based on shoulder insignia alone but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what was located on his shoulders or the fact that he knew how to do a quick maintenance on his small fighter plane but he couldn’t remember the numbers gracing the tail. He needed an inkling and he needed one now.
The entire house was silent, both Aaron and Jack contentedly slumbering beneath piles of blankets to block out the cold night. Downstairs in the small living room attached to the equally small kitchen the young hiccup sat on his haunches, thin blanket covering his legs and provided padding for the large and heavy book set before him. The page was currently opened to a rather interesting picture of one Quentin Anenson. A brilliant American pilot if Quincy had any take on it. The picture, all sepia and golden viewed a young man walking away from what was obviously a crashed plane; yet, he was so nonchalant as he headed towards the camera. Hopeful despite his death not too long after. Quincy shuddered. Aaron did not like him thinking of some events. He would have been upset but recently and mainly at night he felt different… more comfortable with the prospect of death in such a manner and not minding. A barrier was thin not that the Hiccup would understand but unknowingly he knew that what he felt now would feel as distant as a dream.
The pages turned, showing RAF men in ritzy hotels, dancing juxtaposed grotesquely with broken buildings and mourning people. It felt wrong. This shouldn’t have happened and if the world really were as a beautiful place as people made it out to be then this wouldn’t have happened.
‘Not everyone in the world is as nice as we think they might be’ Aaron had once said causing the young boy confusion and mishap after wandering off in a grocery store. It was then that he had made it his vendetta to fill the world with enough niceness to make it a little bit more even.
Quincy looked sadly at the image of a cadet dancing what was to be his last happy night with a young thing, dressed up in formal blues and the woman looking fairly nice in Sunday dress. The small boy pressed his palm to the picture and grinned happily at the picture before laying his head onto the cool print, warm fur clad ears resting against the page and soon he too was swinging to the tones of a Vera Lynn in an old hotel for a final shout off.
Tick, tick, tick, tick, crank ticktickticktick.
The powerful strength found in tiny gears as they wound further and further, cogs interlocking and second hand moving as it swept by roman numerals with no halt, cranked and ready to go for another twenty-four hours. The pocket watch swung from his pointed finger as he sat by the windowsill watching the quiet night.
It was 1942, height of the Blitz and his entire troop were partying beneath the stars. He grinned a sad grin and watched as his second party roared underway, soothing brass taking his sensitive ears into the glowing dream that as a sending off party to cadets. He felt a mixture of confusion and contentment. He was an Ace, shooting down five enemy planes and had even been asked to speak about it for a short moment. Glory wasn’t a strong point so he merely commented on the good drinks and wished them all luck before hustling back to his seat by the window.
It wouldn’t be long before he and his fellow cadets would be flowing through the air in search of enemies and in a fight to keep their home safe from Hitler’s crusade. It was rather endearing that the boy faced soldiers, many older and a few similar aged would be taking on the world as they tried to hold all that is sacred.
Tick, tick, tick.
For what had to be the twentieth time he flipped open his father’s pocket watch as his good luck charm and watched as the seconds flicked by. The music filling his ears, the alcohol reaching his mind and he was almost unaware of the fine boned hand that was rested on his wrist. Slim fingers lead to a pale arm, golden from the candlelight yet close enough to the window that the moonlight reflected a pale luminescence.
Evelyn Rose she said her name was and he kindly asked her to dance, a blush rushing high on his ears. The boy was well aware that he looked no different from the red nosed school children as they tentatively held hands with a girl on the schoolyard. His steps were sloppy and his once uncaring demeanor, the lost one sitting at the window pondering how he was to fight again was gone as he fell back into his age and let his worries lift and give Evelyn his last dance.
Two songs had passed and they still clung together in hopes of forgetting what the world was doing around them but unfortunately all good things must come to an end no matter the bliss it may bring.
Air raid sirens were particularly loud that night and maybe it was because the dance meant something or that Quincy suddenly didn’t want to go back off to fight and saw his future flash before him and tore up in the flames caused by screaming bombs. He held her hand, soft skin flushed with activity as he pulled her to safety with the rest of the dancing soldiers. The basement of the hotel was dark and cold and he left his coat upon small shoulders for warmth as they spoke with one another.
Tick, tick, tick- and suddenly that is when he noticed, his watch was still by the half glass of champagne. Quickly he left, disregarding advice to turn around and return to his girl and he ran, up to that lonely window where he could see the bombs lighting the sky as the sirens wailed. Trembling he grasped the watch within cold fingers, fear claiming his heat as he warily made his way back to the basement, to safety.
But something was wrong, Anderson was his last name and it was his first tour in their crusade. Fresh and young, three months younger than himself and he was hunched over in the corner, frozen with what would have appeared as the worst case of shell shock despite him never seeing battle.
They had to leave so pleadingly he led him away from the corner before the boy gasped and held his head.
“I don’t want to see the front. Never.” and he dashed out and into the streets. He bolted after, adrenaline pumping him the extra meter and he saw the bomb drop.
Tick tick ticktickticktickclick jam shatter.
Quincy woke with a start, heart pounding in his chest and it felt like the earth was crumbling beneath the couch. His book had long fell to the floor with a resonating thud startling the boy out of his haze but soon the images and soothing music, screaming bombs drew him back in and he didn’t feel Aaron picking the boy up and carefully carrying him to his room.
“It’ll be all right, little soldier.” Quincy heard the whisper and delved further into dreams of cumulus clouds and a never-ending flight.
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Posted: Fri Dec 24, 2010 9:43 am
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