Time: 1842/
August 15, 2530/
Aboard the UNSC Excalibur
I never thought I'd say this, but I feel as though I'm almost used to missing John. I'm not happy about it; this persistent ache in my chest is the worse feeling I've ever suffered. In some ways...a lot of ways, it was easier to lose my entire family than to lose him. But it's an ache that I've learned to accept as part of who I am anymore. There's nothing I can do to lessen the longing or the constant questions of if I'm doing the wrong thing. So yes, the loss of John is steady.
It's the loss of everyone else that hurts like a dagger.
Being an ODST is much harder than I'd ever anticipated, and there's not a ton of time to spend thinking back on what my life had once been like. That's how I like it, honestly. Because when those times do come, it's like being struck by a wrecking ball. It's the sudden realization that I don't remember what Fred smells like anymore. It's the moment I remember how Luna's face would light up whenever she saw wild blue berries. It's when my heart skips a beat as I see a star chart and remember the stories Fred would make up for constellations. It's the tear when I hear a British accent and try to compare it to Kelly.
I was dirt-side today, on a training exercise with the squad, and we came across this small canyon. Of course, everyone decided to have fun by yelling stuff and listening to the echoes that would drift back to us. I had to smack a couple of the boys for being immature, but it was mostly good fun. At least...it was until it was my time to yell something. As I stood on the edge and just stared out at everything, I remembered a mission with the Spartans that wasn't all that different. We'd found a canyon that could have been this one's twin and had yelled all sorts of things. But...we never really heard any echoes. Not because they weren't there but because we were all so busy laughing and having a fun time that we covered them up without meaning to. Really...it was the echoes of the laughter that I heard the most, and the sound that has really stuck with me over these years.
This time was...different. Everyone went quiet as I stood there, staring into a void almost more dangerous than the one in space. I tried closing my eyes, desperately reaching for the laughter that I could still recall, but when I screamed my name into the void, my voice was the only one that echoed back.
I don't think anything has broken me as effortlessly as that solitary sound.
We left the canyon soon after. No one knew what was wrong with me, but it was clear to all of them that something was bothering me. If they'd known how loud my heart was screaming or how badly my hands were shaking, they might have been worried. As it was, they just chalked it up to another quirk of mine and left me to my own devices. I'm not as grateful as I probably should be.
I knew that living outside the program would be hard. I knew that I was choosing the lesser of two evils but that made it no less evil itself. I knew that I would spend the majority of my life hiding who I am from everyone and almost religiously avoiding those that I would kill to see for a fraction of a second. None of this is new, but in these quiet moments when my brain has a moment to think, the realization that I'm alone hits anew again and again. Time doesn't seem to soften the blow and there's no way to know when a new attack is coming around the corner. All I can do is grit my teeth and try to bare it...but sometimes I can't. Sometimes I fall to the floor and cry in a corner, and I'm not even sure who is crying. The Spartan? The little girl? The ODST? All of them? None?
The Spartans were chosen because of our physical and mental capabilities. I was given solo missions first because I was able to stand on my own the longest. But even I can't go at life completely alone. I need support, but I can't get any without revealing my secrets and that will end in nothing other than death. Honestly, it seems that death is all I can expect from life, and if there's a more depressing thought out there, I don't want to know it.
But there's hope, I guess. A silver lining. Because even though the echo of my voice is still dancing around in my head, the echo of my siblings laughter is rooted deep in my mind. My voice will fade in time; I'm sure of that. The laughter, though, will last much longer. And when my own voice gets too loud, I can just look for the laughter. It will be there. I must believe that. I must...
Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is Echo by Jason Walker. Yes, there are two chapters that use the same song. I had the song on my playlist twice and didn't realize until I'd written both out. Sorry.