HITTING ROCK BOTTOM
I can remember the first time I saw a mechwarrior.I was standing at the edge of a scarred battle field.
Smoke trailed lazily across the empty meadow blocking out the violence that had fallen silent moments before. Around me trees cracked with the heat of spent weapons. At my feet a single flower dipped in the quiet breeze.
Lifting my eyes from that silent symbol of peace and rest I was greeted by the devastation of a meeting of enemies, the actions of violent men, the life of Solaris 7.
Standing among the trails of smoke was a lone Commando, its vents still spilling the heat of battle. Its smallness belied the death that waited among its weapons.
My lungs filled with the choking arid stench of super heated air and melting metal. With watering eyes I watched its brave rider climb from the ravaged mech. Silence fell like a blanket over the field as he stumbled to the ground. Wiping my eyes I edged forward to see his face. I could not.
But as he reached to his helmet and drew it from his head, my breath caught up in my lungs. Raising his helmet to the sky I heard him scream his victory cry. So small among the massive mechs that lay strewn about him. And at that moment the world erupted with the cheering of spectators. The thundering crowd, the arrogant fighter, the burning air, my choking lungs.
I wanted to be that man.
For what has seemed like a lifetime I have fought to be the man I once saw on the battle-field. Yet, each day I find myself drifting further from that goal. When poised for the kill, my hand waits a second too long. When I should be leaping beyond the reach of my opponents weapons I am again caught up in the beauty of it racing toward me. My ears catch the screaming of the approaching missles and I almost want to hear them tearing though the metal that surrounds me.
Why do I wait? Why can't I stop this fascination with the fight? Why can't I be that man?
My son saw me fighting today, he said he wants to be just like me...
From the pages of the journal of Dream_Caste; RTB
I can remember the first time I saw a mechwarrior.I was standing at the edge of a scarred battle field.
Smoke trailed lazily across the empty meadow blocking out the violence that had fallen silent moments before. Around me trees cracked with the heat of spent weapons. At my feet a single flower dipped in the quiet breeze.
Lifting my eyes from that silent symbol of peace and rest I was greeted by the devastation of a meeting of enemies, the actions of violent men, the life of Solaris 7.
Standing among the trails of smoke was a lone Commando, its vents still spilling the heat of battle. Its smallness belied the death that waited among its weapons.
My lungs filled with the choking arid stench of super heated air and melting metal. With watering eyes I watched its brave rider climb from the ravaged mech. Silence fell like a blanket over the field as he stumbled to the ground. Wiping my eyes I edged forward to see his face. I could not.
But as he reached to his helmet and drew it from his head, my breath caught up in my lungs. Raising his helmet to the sky I heard him scream his victory cry. So small among the massive mechs that lay strewn about him. And at that moment the world erupted with the cheering of spectators. The thundering crowd, the arrogant fighter, the burning air, my choking lungs.
I wanted to be that man.
For what has seemed like a lifetime I have fought to be the man I once saw on the battle-field. Yet, each day I find myself drifting further from that goal. When poised for the kill, my hand waits a second too long. When I should be leaping beyond the reach of my opponents weapons I am again caught up in the beauty of it racing toward me. My ears catch the screaming of the approaching missles and I almost want to hear them tearing though the metal that surrounds me.
Why do I wait? Why can't I stop this fascination with the fight? Why can't I be that man?
My son saw me fighting today, he said he wants to be just like me...
From the pages of the journal of Dream_Caste; RTB
