A-lone adj 1: separated from others 2: not including anyone or anything else : Synonyms Lonely, Lonesome, Lone, Solitary Me
I had always thought the quaint cabin was empty. With my father and I, the two room structure served us well for the purpose we needed it for but it still seemed to be empty. Now, he's gone.
I have always thought of him as the only one that understood me, my only friend. But now, he's gone, and leaving my with an even more empty house and all of the black and white memories.
I open the small fist of my right hand, revealing the object concealed inside. A delicate brown cord with a pendent carved from pine, a wolf. My mother made it for him before she had passed. Her carving abilities where prominent from the intricate details on the figure's surface. I slid the cord over my head, letting the necklace fall against my collar bone and tucking it beneath my button-up shirt for safe keeping. I grabbed the wide-brimmed cap from the hanger and shut the wooden door behind me, afraid that I would cry if I took one last look at the house.
The painted mare snorted and pawed the earth impetuously; alerting me she was very ready to go. I suppressed a weak chuckle and placed the hat snuggly against my short chestnut hair, mounting her in one swift motion and clutching the reigns in my now free hand, easing her into a smooth canter down the small dirt road.
Night settled quickly along the quiet countryside, I pulled off the road and set up a small fire, rifle laying by my side. I watched the flames dance in the cool breeze, mare nibbling on a stray patch of clover. I stirred the flames again with the prod of the gun before relaxing again, awaiting dawn.
I had fallen asleep, that was my first thought once I had awoken to the pink colors of dawn. I stomped out the remains of the smoldering wood and clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth to bid the mare over to me. She lifted her head and nickered a greeting, trotting over with a toss of her majestic head. I mounted quickly; making sure the gun was still in my hands before setting off again.
It hadn't changed. The town I mean. I dismounted and lashed the mare's reigns to a lone post, adjusting the wide-brimmed hat on the head before striding towards the registration desk, line already forming of young men with conceited prospects. And I was sentenced to wait again, to my dislike. The young men jostled around with each other, insults flying along with the profanities. Ignoring it was my only decision.
One of them strode up to the man behind the table.
"Name," He said in a monotonous voice.
"Jonathan Kelly," He drawled, "Unstoppable." His friends laughed.
The officer looked up from his papers, "Look son. We aren't looking for boys. We are looking for men. I suggest you leave because if you go into war you will surely not come back."
The younger man scoffed and stalked off with that same loping stride.
I strolled up to the officer next, handing him my papers and tipping my hat politely.
"Name," he repeated.
"Robert Lighte," I replied in a lowered voice.
He peeked over the tops of his spectacles and inspected me. I tried to retain my stature in front of his sharp gaze. Slowly but surely he returned his eyes back to the crinkled paper in his hand, reading the information on it. He returned it to my hand and scribbled something down, "You can go."
"But sir-"
He cut me off, "We don't question our officers in the army son."
A/N: I do not own the characters or concept for The Lost Battalion, which was based on an actual event in WWI.
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