A/N: Hello, readers! This story is very sad so… I dunno, read it if you want to. WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH.
'Another Year has come and gone
and I'm still here holdin' on
to this rifle and a picture of my kids
they're sayin' it's a holiday
sure as hell don't feel that way
I don't think Jesus meant for it to be like this'
Bombs exploded overhead. An M16A2 rifle in hand and sweat-soaked white hair crushed beneath a helmet, Toshiro Hitsugaya hid behind the wall of a trench to keep himself safe from the onslaught of Iraqi soldiers.
December 24, 2010. Christmas Eve.
Care package from his wife and son, Rukia and Ronin, who were sitting alone in their home because Toshiro was dedicated to his country.
He knew the gods had never wanted him to be separated from them at this time of year, but December had appeared, and now it was Christmas Eve, and he wasn't at home for his four-year-old son and wife of five years.
'A paper star on a plastic tree
cotton snow in a manger scene
we do the best we can to make it feel like home
a turkey dinner on paper plates
Sergeant bows his head to pray
boom box playin' silent night
camouflage and Christmas lights'
Gunfire rang as he tried to force the image of his son running down the old steps of their Victorian-era home only to trip over the rug and land softly on the floor as Toshiro and Rukia made their way down the stairs slowly, two pairs of hands itching to have a mug of hot coffee in them while the third, smaller pair longed to rip paper off of boxes.
That was last year. All Toshiro wanted to do was go home and see that again, but he knew it wouldn't happen, not this year.
His troop had become nearly as tight as a grieving family, all of them longing for the soft sounds of breathing when they slept as opposed to the harsh crackle of gunfire and unforgiving screams of grenades. They all longed for home, and their own balsam fir trees, and their own family, so they had thrown all of their effort into making a little Christmas scene in their tent. Miniature plastic tree adorned with a paper star drawn by Gin Ichimaru's daughter, Nami. Gin was one of the few people in his troop Toshiro did not get along with, so he mainly stayed out of his way.
The sight of the little tannunbam made most of the others somewhat happy, just enough to push through the holidays holding onto a picture of their family and their rifles, but Toshiro's heart ached for home; the tiny plastic balsam mocked him each day, pretending to be the real thing.
The two-foot-tall tree was covered on one side by an equally small nativity scene littered with unrefined cotton fibers, still trying to make the tent somewhat like home.
His heart still longed for home.
'They're probably up on the hill by now
bundled up and sleddin' down
catchin' snowflakes on the edge of their tongues
standin' up at the top would be
the prettiest girl I've ever seen
whispering a quiet prayer for all of us'
His mind replayed the first time he took Ronin on a sled down a 27 degree hill behind his old elementary school as he imagined that same sled now empty of one of its occupants, or replaced by his caring wife.
Another image of his only son swam through his mind; this one of when Ronin was three, his birthday on January 17, the only thing he wanted was to play in the snow. Rukia had managed to find a snowsuit small enough for the petite three-year-old and gave it to him as his birthday present so he could fulfill his wish to play in the snow. The over-excited, white-haired child sprinted from the back door of their home and into the snow-blanketed yard, instantly jumping into the white powder face-first and almost swimming in it.
"Daddy! Mommy! Look what I can do!" the sweet voice of his son replayed like a broken record he would never tire of hearing as the mental video accompanying the sound byte followed shortly after.
Ronin had emerged from the snow; tracks had been left in his destructive wake, and he was now facing Rukia and Toshiro, who were captured in a tight embrace as the child exclaimed his newfound talent.
Rukia's head turned to gaze upon the short boy with his tongue pointed towards the sky, when she caught sight of this she nearly screeched at him for sticking his tongue out at her, but Toshiro caught her lips in a quick kiss before whispering: "Relax, Love, he's catching snowflakes on his tongue."
Toshiro shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts of memories so he could focus to survive and return home, but the image of Rukia with her head bowed in prayer caught his exhausted mind.
He knew the most beautiful girl in his life was praying for him and his comrades every night, and had most likely instructed their son to do so as well.
'Some say I'm a hero
but I'm just a dad
who's trying to protect
the most precious thing I have
someday I'll be home again
and our world will be right
But for tonight a paper star on a plastic tree
cotton snow in a manger scene
we do the best we can to make it feel like home.
turkey dinner on paper plates
Sergeant bows his head to pray
Boom box playin' silent night
camouflage and Christmas lights
thank God it's a silent night
camouflage and Christmas Lights'
He knew what some people thought of him, the war-haters, the anti-government supporters, the people who crashed military funerals just because of a soldiers line of work, but never did he see himself as a hero.
He knew Ronin looked up to him as a hero because he was the young boy's father, and he knew Rukia saw him as an everyday hero, one who needed to be noticed.
Toshiro chuckled at the thought of Rukia telling their son his father was smarter, faster, and stronger than Super Man, Batman, and Spiderman combined. He shook his head as he imagined the young boy's eyes lighting up when he heard his dad was better than his favorite comic-book heroes.
His eyes travelled down to the left cuff of his camouflage uniform as the Sun began running for cover and its rays became golden-red. The first two inches of that cuff weren't with him; they were back in America with his family, sewn across the first two points of the star that lived atop their tree.
CRACK!
A gun screamed as it launched the small projectile from its home in the barrel, whizzing just above Toshiro's head, uncaringly dragging him back to the unpleasant present.
Toshiro blinked twice in quick succession, remembering that he was supposed to be shooting them, not letting them shoot him.
He readied his gun before jumping up and out from the trench and beginning to fire at enemies he couldn't see.
Silence.
A gun stopped screaming as bullets flying from it stopped appearing.
Silence rang in uncaring ears as golden-red light bathed the red-soaked shirt of a soldier who had been contemplating the past and hoping for the future.
A soft thump that not a soul heard save for the one who had fallen, turquoise eyes slid closed and white hair was still crushed beneath a helmet that now served no purpose.
'Thank God it's a silent night
camouflage and Christmas lights'
A/N: sorry it's so sad, if you think it's written well enough to be sad… review and tell me what you think, PLEASE!