One Wrong Turn
i don't own Fairy Tail in any way shape or form.
Gunfire blazes. My ears begin ring from the surrounding explosions, and a faint hum echoes through my mind. The stiff armour is heavy, but not as heavy as the losses. Bodies scatter around me, but their is no time to grieve, just move, forward. I watch as one of our countries soldiers fall but their is no time to waste.
I pull quickly around the closest brick wall I can find: empty, thank god. This god forsaken war has been raging for 10 years, a decade too long. I shouldn't even be here, I should be sitting at home, monitoring the television and keeping the lights off. This stupid war is racial, so stupid. I live in the USA, and the Afganhistan war is all the rage my loved one doesn't die, and trust me, everyone has a loved one fighting, they've got no choice.
I, on the other hand, did have a choice. I chose to jump into the madness to get an inside scoop. "Freedom of the Free" magazine, all your war goodies, updates and death toll right at your front door.
Ok, that's not actually the motto.
But seriously, I'm a reporter, a fucked up one albeit, but a reporter none the less. I actually volunteered for this position. I know, "wow little Lucy got balls!" My friends exclaimed patting me on the back, before they realized what they said and backed away.
"Miss," a voice came from behind me. I flipped around quickly, gasping as I turned. But soon sighed with relief, I couldn't see a face, or even a skin tone for that matter. But I could tell by the uniform that he was one of ours.
"Yes?"
"You need to evacuate, go home before this gets ugly." He stated firmly, gazing past me.
"You mean before it gets uglier. It's already filthy." I spat disgusted. The solider grabbed my arm, sending shivers up my skin. I focused real hard on the mask, trying to peak through the glass', all I could see was dark.
Dark...
Uneasily, I spoke again "this isn't my home anyway, I'm here to report from my home." The solider tilted his head, just enough for me to see dark skin on his neck.
A stolen uniform.
It all happened too fast, out of the bottom of my eye I saw the mans hand grip the AK-47 and begin to swing it up. My eyes widened and so did my mouth. I stumbled back as someone pushed in between us and knocked into the gun, pushing it away. The blur punched the fake solider in the face, grabbing my wrist and booking it down the alley.
And holy shit it was fast.
After a couple of turns and pants we came to a dead end.
"We're good here." The man said, I could see now it was an actual solider. He had a goofy smile on his face and piercing onyx eyes. Is that pink hair I see?
"Thanks" I panted.
After a few moments of silence he spoke again.
"If you don't mind me asking, what the hell are you doing here? I mean no one in their sane mind would come here armed and suited for combat! But your here in khakis and a tank top!" He whispered forcefully.
"I'm a reporter, kinda what I do. 'Getting the inside scoop'" I made hand gestures to emphasize my point.
"What did they force you to come or something?"
"I volunteered!" I yelled in defence.
"You volunteered?"
"Yes..."
"Seriously!?"
"Yes...?"
"Why!"
"Because I'm bored. The people I love are already in this war, or were. They aren't alive anymore. I've got nothing to live for thanks to this stupid ass war!" I whispered forcefully back.
"Wow, you had post traumatic syndrome before you even got into the war- you weirdo." He started to giggle silently.
"What's your name anyway- weirdo" I scoffed back.
"Natsu, Natsu Dragneel" he smiled a goofy grin again that made my heart beat a little faster.
"Well Private Dragneel, I'm Lucy Heartfilia." I held out my hand.
"Corporal Dragneel actually. It's a pleasure Ms. Heartfilia." He shook my hand again. Electricity rang up my arm, by the look on his face I could tell he felt it too.
"Well weirdo, first, get the hell out of this place and don't come back. Second, maybe when I get the hell outta this place we could go for coffee?" He asked, my eyes widened, then softened.
"I'll write you" I smiled, turning to walk away. His hand lingered on mine for seconds longer than it should.
But hey, you won't hear me complaining.
How's my first one-shot?
i know one shots aren't my thing, frankly I don't think I even read them. I just think they're too short. Oh well. I thought I might as well try. Can't call the kettle black without knowing if black is a bad colour or not.
metaphorically.
ahhaha oh well. I might make it a two-shot but that all depends on what your review is!
so please, review, follow, favourite, and anything else.