A/N: This is quite dreadfully old. Probly a few years. But nonetheless, i still like it. I think I might get around to writing it again some day. But for now, please tell me what you think. I would like it so very much if you reviewed! Have fun reading this!
Because I'm not Alone
Master Chief looked at the young marine leaning on the wall. Her face was white with pain and from blood loss, but her eyes were nigh emotionless. Her thin black hair was tied back in a sweaty pony tail and a few random strands fell over her face. Even though she knew she was close to death, she still held tightly to her shotgun. She looked at him and smiled sadly.
"Why aren't you scared?" he asked quietly, sighing at her foolish peace in the wake of utter destruction. None of the marines would survive this. The Spartans might, but not the marines.
She laughed, pulling a small piece of paper out of her armor and giving it to him to look at. It was a picture of her and a young man, both wearing casual clothes in front of the ruins of the ancient American civilization's "Mount Rushmore." She had thick black lipstick and thick black eyeliner, a nose ring and a star tattooed high on her cheekbone. The man had a ring through his eyebrow and three in one ear, each a different color. Her stomach was swollen with child.
"My baby died, she was stillborn. Nothing the doctors could do." She sighed and took it back. "My boy friend died in a car accident four days after. It really sucked." The other marines around them gave their sympathies, one patting her on the back. "But I decided that I didn't want to be the suicidal freak. I wanted to do something with my life, and so I joined the marines." Her face changed again. "I've known a lot of people, most of them have died. But I know that I've got to keep fighting. And now I'm about to die, and I've never felt better in my life."
One of the marines knocked on her helmet. "No you're not, Kitten. You're gonna get to a hospital and you're gonna live a long and glorious life. You can't use your leg any more, so you've got your own little ticket home." She laughed.
"No. I feel really hazy right now. I know I'm not gonna live."
"Come on, Kitty, don't—"
"Give up what hope? You guys are gonna win this war and justify our deaths," she looked at John with a gaze that seemed to pierce his faceplate. No matter how many times he saw it happen, no matter how many times he saw a person die, he couldn't help but shudder at the gazes of those resigned to their fates. He looked away abruptly and stood, then leaned against the wall.
"What's your deal, Kitty?! Don't you dare give up! You know that when you give up, we do too?!"
She laughed. "I'm not giving up. I never give up, you guys know that. You've known me a long time."
"Like a Spartan." Kitty laughed, but cut off as her breath shortened. She fell back on the wall and breathed heavily. The marine next to her took off her helmet and took her gun out of her hands, clicking safety and setting it on the ground beside her. She settled in his grasp and he pulled off her armor. John raised an eyebrow. She was wearing a dirty white strappy t-shirt and some small shorts. Her body was paler and more scarred than John thought it might be for just a marine. Now he saw the reason for her faintness. There was a foot long gash on her stomach, poorly bandaged.
"This feels pretty good," she said calmly, looking over at John's face again. Again he looked away. "Look at me, man." He didn't. She sighed. "I just want to see what you really look like."
He took a deep breath, then took off his helmet. The others looked at him in wonder, Kitty smiling. "Now I'm okay to die."
John shook his head. "Why?"
She smiled, taking a deep breath. "Because I'm not alone." She let her breath out, her eyes closing. Her lips curved into their last smile.