The fact that DGM is on hiatus for the millionth time finally forced me to write down this thing that's been gathering dust in my brain for a while.
The war has been over for more than a century. Everyone is gone, except for him. He still walks the earth, gathering the trivial histories of mankind. But he has learned his lesson. He has cleared his heart out, and now he exists for the one reason that he should have existed for all this time: to be an impartial observer to the vast stage of humanity.
OCs and OOCness. You have been warned.
Disclaimer: I am a mere mortal, borrowing from the genius of others. Of course I don't own DGM.
ONE:
In a dusty, hot brick of a building, two men sat at a table. Their eyes were fixed on an old-fashioned TV, broadcasting a static-wrought picture of a man standing at a podium, the American flag behind him. In a tinny, faraway voice, the man was saying, "Tonight, August 31, 2011, I'd like to talk to you all about the end of our combat mission in Iraq, ongoing security challenges we will face, and the need to rebuild a nation…"
The man onscreen continued to talk, but the remainder of his speech seemed to not concern the two men at the table.
"You realize what this means," said one man. He was dressed in military uniform and had a sharp American accent.
"Of course I do," retorted the other man. He was dressed in traditional Arabian Muslim dress, a dishdashah and gutrah, and, though he spoke good English, his accent was distinct. "The war may be over for him, but it's just begun for us. It'll be all out battle in this very spot in a few days."
"We'll have to plan," sighed the other man. "Only an idiot would think that it ends here."
A slight shifting in the shadows of a corner gave away the presence of another man. He was startlingly young, in his early 20s at the very most, and had a flaming shock of red hair and pale skin that put him drastically out of place in this land of dark eyes and hair. He had one green eye that gleamed intelligently as it stared at the television. The other was hidden by a dusty eye patch.
He stepped forward into the light and addressed the two men.
"I'll be leaving now. My work here is done."
The Iraqi inclined his head. "Thank you for your services, Arthur. Good luck to you."
"And you." The redhead pulled his orange scarf up to cover his head and stepped out of the building and into the dusty heat of the day.
The two men continued to talk and plan as the TV droned on, buzzing in fits and starts as it brought in the news from America. "…the western states are being torn apart in an environmental, religious and political battle as 2012 presidential candidates race for approval in suddenly disrupted voting blocs….unexplained disappearances and murders plague a wide area in the Mountain West….Hurricane Irene heads toward the Gulf Coast….heat wave sits dormant over much of the Mid-Atlantic region…."
With a blip, the TV transmission cut off, leaving a screen of buzzing static. The two men didn't notice.
The red haired man walked into the desert, scarf ends waving an empty goodbye in the hot wind, his mind intent upon his next destination.