When all you think about is the person you love, it eats you up when they're not here. It hurts, so I've tried to distract myself with writing a parody of sorts of my own emotions. Jennifer-312 feels much the same. Please do not think too much into this, and No flames/suggestions for correction. This is merely me placing my thoughts into words to get them out of my head.
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Have you ever loved someone so greatly.. that they fill your heart so there's room for nothing else, and then one day they're taken from you?
As I wander this dessimated wasteland, burned and melted until it was a black mirror that only reflected my lonliness back at me, as if it too had lost someone special. I think of her all the time, in every waking moment, in every dream. The heat sometimes gets to me and I think I can see her in the distance, beckoning me to catch up. I rush ahead, ready to meet her outstretched hand but each step seems to take me farther and farther away until she's no more.
Its foolish, I suppose- to wish for something so strongly that she's all I think about- Not this war, not this planet, not the whole of humanity crying out around me, begging that I be their savior, to offer deliverance to a land of peace and safety from the alien deluge that threatens to snuff us like the insignificant flame we truly are. But I can't help it- She's everywhere around me and yet not there at all.
The thought of her torments me, and I relive that moment over and over like some sick film. How can mortality be so fragile, when we were like gods? raised from nothing to become something, someone. Yet in the blink of an eye she was gone, the life fading from her eyes as those blast doors closed. Part of me wished to go along, but the blood and chemicals and years of programming told me I had to continue, to strive and persevere and struggle. I had managed it before, long before I knew the others, the regimented leader, the tactiful second in command, the mouthy grim reaper, the ghost and the unmovvable pillar of a man. So why was it so hard now to move on, to force myself to lift my feet and push forward as I had done since my childhood.
A part of me left with her, I'm sure of it- Something of me that didn't even exist until I met her. So quickly it had become a part of me, integrated fully into that hardened ceramic and rapid reaction time, the muscles and eyes that can see into the stars. And without that something, all of the rest just seems useless, trivial and even a burden.
As if losing her wasn't bad enough- Each fell one by one, leaving only me behind. Once a lone wolf, Always a lone wolf I suppose.
Even now as I cross these glistening flatlands, I stay hidden, avoiding patrols in the hopes of finding rescue. The progress is slow- they are everywhere with keen eyes and quick feet, hunting me and others like me in their defiant quest against human existance. They've come close a few times, and that part of me that is fractured and brittle thinks that letting them win would be best.
I kept her weapon although I will admit I hadn't been maintaining it to her immaculate standards. She was meticulous, thurough and quick. I watched her break it down and reassemble it faster than I had ever seen anyone do so, and it always seemed to work better every time, like all that care and attention she gave it encouraged it and empowered it. It might not be as clean as she would half kept it but I still take the time to admire its sleek crisp edges, the ridges along the back of its slide, the way the pin clicks when the magazine is empty, the feeling of each round sliding into the clip. Even the way it recoils is a thing of beauty, and when she was the driving force behind its blow I swear it was the most beautiful thing in the universe.
Once, she asked me about my past, the curious woman her name had always hinted at- I was nervous to oblige, hesitant to become so entangled with this team. Eventually I told her everything- About the orphanage, about my 'adoption', about the weeks I would spend alone in the cold redwood forests of Reach's snow capped mountains. I was Satan's personal assassin, or so they called me- Right hand of men who deteremined who lived or died and if you were on their list, you had better start praying.
As I told my story I saw a peculiar smirk part her lips, light from our little campfire catching slightly on her teeth and eyes as the warmpth lit up her face. That was one of the few times we remained deployed in the field after we had made the shocking discovery of Reach's attack. I think that night was the night that it creapt into me- that feeling that leaves me so empty now. As a kid I wondered what they felt- our saviors, Spartans everyone called them. I wondered if they felt happiness, fear, hate, excitement.. even love, or if they were just stone cold automated killing machines designed to exterminate with extreme prejudice.
I suppose this answers that question that burned within me for all these years. They can, and if given the chance, they will- like any other human being. And that feeling, which filled me to the point of bursting, now leaves me with a bitter salty taste and its only when I go to brush my too-long ashy blond hair from my eyes that I realise that I've been crying. Did Spartans cry? They're humans too so why not.
I whipe away the drops of water with the back of my glove, cold armor momentarily brushing against my skin and it makes me shiver. Sometimes I don't like this heavy burden- of being what I am, of wearing this impregnable shell that keeps me locked in, of the weight of this rifle that glimmers dimly in the light of my fire tucked into the cold lonely remains of what was once a house. Its alot, far more than one person should ever have to bear.
Then I wonder, had I been given the chance, could I have left it all behind, settled down with her and live out our lives? Or would we be too anxious, twitching at every sound as we move faster than the human eye can percieve to grab at our firearms, hidden in drawers and closets and umbrella cans. Could I have ever made these illusions a thing of reality?
Its late, I've been up thinking, staring at the moon as it pours in through the broad window of our countryside home. We bought it because it was what she wanted and I didn't mind. The city made me jumpy. My mind has been racing and I think about the past. Of Noble and of Reach and of training and experiments and of needles and pain. Of these scars that mar my skin, some healed and softened to a waxy glaze while others catch the moonlight and cast long shadows. A gentle breeze rolls in and I shiver. The hairs on my arms stand. I rub them to brush away the feeling. Finally I turn, and I catch sight of her.
She has scars to. As many as me. I asked her about them once. She had pointed to one on her left arm, explaining how it had occured. MJLONIR was strong, but without shielding and quick enough response time, a plasma sword can easily find its way through the metal, crystals and circuitry. She showed me a round patch of warped flesh on her right hip, burn marks from where a fuel rod round's residue had stuck and burned through her underarmor.
The most prominant scar of all was her right arm- a metal fabrication made to resemble that which was no longer there, forged joints and motors, wires connecting it all as if to mock the central nervous system. 'Field tested and combat approved' she always said with a smile that sometimes scared me and an in accent that made my spine tingle. I didn't dare fathom the damage it might deal to whatever she got her hands on. That day I sat behind her and marvelled at the wonders of science, fingers gently tracing the contours of the scarred tissue that had slowly begun to overtake the metal frame sunk into it. She would look back at me from over her shoulder, eyes half lidded and I watched the muscles in her neck flex as she smiles. I couldn't tell but she almost seemed ambaressed, her cheeks turning rosey.
The memory fades and I'm left sitting in the bay window bathing in the moon's cool rays. Now I stand and close the gap. She's laying on her side with her back to me, left arm tucked under her pillow with her right resting infront of her. She is breathing slowly and I take a moment to watch, taking comfort in the calmness of it all. All at once my thoughts fog and as I lay my head down I pull the covers to myself and drift into the land of dreams with the hopes of finding her there. Then when the sun coms, it hits me first and my eyes open. Things blur and for a moment I think I can see the machines and smell anesthesia and I'm walking up for the first time after my rebirth. Then it clears and I see her, back still turned to me but I can tell she has moved in the night, right arm resting on her side, draped lazily.. Then the sun slides across and bathes her in its warmpth and golden light. The way her skin seemed to glow always fascinated me and I sit up just enough to lean over and gently kiss her neck. For a moment she inhales sharply then gives a contented sigh and her eyes drift open, a blue as bright as the sky peers up at me and her lips curl into a soft smile.
I'm staring at my campfire. Its cold and my breath collects in misty clouds before me then fade. It was only a dream, coming and going as quickly as the plumes of air in the night. My jaw hurts from chewing on a ration bar I found in this hollowed out building. Its far from fresh but I take comfort in knowing I can fight off any bacteria or viruses that might lurk. I realise my face has dried and the tears have gone, leaving salty dried streaks that feel wierd against my skin. My nose had been running and my sinuses felt numb from the cold air.
I see her there again, sitting next to me, and then she's gone. As I look to my side I see my helmet. My own face stares back, gold and marred from years of battle.
Tomorrow I will finish my journey and rendezvous with the remaining members of Red and Echo teams. For now I am left alone with only my reflection, this hard chewy ration bar, my faceless helmet and my thoughts.
The night suddenly feels colder and I shiver.