Title:Night
Summary: A drabble written for The Pacific. Sledge/Snafu if you grab yourself a magnifying glass and Mr. Holmes.
Night had never been something to fear in Eugene's book. It was simply when the sun would fade and the stars would blossom high above the Alabama fields. Night meant fireflies and the cooling of a ferociously heated day. It would lead him to crisp sheets and rest.
Sledge had different eyes when it came to night. As the sky dimmed he could feel his stomach clench and his eyes dart to the faces around him. He would attempt to memorize every detail of the world around him, willing it to all remain the same even as he lost it to the shadows. He never wanted the dark to come, because one of two things happened at night, either you were left to the mercy of the rotted dreams and awoke completely alone and empty with only your terror before you. There was then the second option, where you never join the men around you again. You simply disappeared into the ground, never to be seen again except in the honorable words that lie to your weeping family.
Sledge could already read his own letter. It would talk about how he had fallen valiantly, in a vital mission that would be the pivotal point in all the ways the war needed. It would paint such a grand picture of him sprinting forward to meet the enemy and leaving many felled around him. And while his parent would weep they would also know of his bravery and honor, they would raise their eyes to the heaven and know that he was amongst the stars as so many valiant men.
Yet when honesty came into the matter, things would always fade to a dull grey and lose all sheen that they may have once possessed. Because, he knew that this letter would never be truth, and that the ones that were sent were simply kind fabrications made by a well groomed woman before a typewriter with no idea who this lost soul had been. Sledge knew how these corpses that lay scattered on the ground really came to be. He knew that they had spent their last minutes cowering in some battle field screaming and crying, leaving the world just as they had come into it. And they also had died like every other boy, nothing unique or heroic, just the uniform death that they each were issued along with boots and dog tags.
He had seen this same death over and over, and as time moved on he lost his fear and grew into his resentment. He was angry at the fact that he was still standing when so many others were allowed to leave this. All Sledge was beginning to be able to feel was his fury that they were able to die as living men, while he had to live as a dead man. He had to soldier on while they came to rest. They could sleep while he still had to last through the nights.
Yet, as he stared into the eyes of a nameless boy, as this child lay there wordless, dressed up like some government doll, he could feel that ever constant tug at the back of his mind. The one that reminded him that he never wanted to end up that alone. It told him that while the nights were bad, he would always awake and only for a moment be abandoned. Then there would be a calloused hand feeling it's way over to him, and wide grey eyes scanning his face while a thick southern drawl spoke, reminding Gene that Snafu was right there.
And maybe, they could get through one more night.