No one's reviewed still. o.o Maybe if I put in the summary "mad hot kinky
lovin'!" I'd get more.
Hmmm . . . In any case, here is the next chapter. It draws closer to the
Slayers world. This character is /very/ different from Gaav, however.
"In the year to come, I will see birds flying in the sky"
Crouched in a worn down basement, a small, thin man with striking orange-red hair covers his ears and closes his eyes tightly. /Please, please, please, let me survive this./ He begs silently. The deafening explosions outside don't subside for hours, and even when they do, no one dares surface for another few. Houses around them are obliterated. He is careful to come up, but then joins the effort of searching through the rubble for survivors, and treating the wounded.
"I will sit on my porch and watch the children play in the yards between houses."
He is one of the few in the town who still remember what life was like before the war. He sometimes longed to see the birds that had once flown overhead, that dared to no more. Once the dragons had started fighting beside them, most people moved-but himself, blind in one eye and half deaf in one ear, had refused to leave the small town where he and his brothers had grown up. The dragons and this town had always lived side by side in peace, but in the past years the dragons had suddenly started battling an outside force-and this town was caught up in it, receiving explosions meant for the dragons or the stray blasts of a fight. . In but an hour people returned to their shelters, fearing another assult.
He stands on the side of his old porch, the side that had not been destroyed by flying rubble. He could almost remember hearing the laughter of children, running around the yard playing with his two older brothers while his father watched. It had been eight years since any children had played outside. Now, he could see neglected streets full of holes, and houses that had reduced partially or entirely reduced to rubble. There were many children who had never seen the outside, or were too young to remember, for their parents had never let them out. A few dead plants, a few lingering people who watched each other with fear and suspicion in their eyes.
However, there was a small sprout of green that drew his eye from the striking contrast against the dismal grays and browns of everything else. He walked over to it. Grass. Miraculously, one small patch of grass still remained.
"You will see, you will see how good it will be"
He touched the blades gently. "Maybe . . ." he thought, "maybe next year, there will be children playing outside again. There will be birds, and grass /everywhere../ He stood up, and smiled. Next year, he'd be sitting on his porch without fear, watching the children play and laughing. His brothers . . . . .and his father would be happy to have it that way. They hadn't lived through the explosion that had blinded his eye, but he swore to live long enough to see it through.
"In the year to come."
Yes.maybe next year. This peaceful town would no longer be nothing but vast and desolate rubble, and this war would never again be fought. The man returns to his house, and descends to his confining shelter. Maybe he'd even miss the war, someday. In the year to come.
"There has been joy. There will be joy again." ~Alfred Bester
"In the year to come, I will see birds flying in the sky"
Crouched in a worn down basement, a small, thin man with striking orange-red hair covers his ears and closes his eyes tightly. /Please, please, please, let me survive this./ He begs silently. The deafening explosions outside don't subside for hours, and even when they do, no one dares surface for another few. Houses around them are obliterated. He is careful to come up, but then joins the effort of searching through the rubble for survivors, and treating the wounded.
"I will sit on my porch and watch the children play in the yards between houses."
He is one of the few in the town who still remember what life was like before the war. He sometimes longed to see the birds that had once flown overhead, that dared to no more. Once the dragons had started fighting beside them, most people moved-but himself, blind in one eye and half deaf in one ear, had refused to leave the small town where he and his brothers had grown up. The dragons and this town had always lived side by side in peace, but in the past years the dragons had suddenly started battling an outside force-and this town was caught up in it, receiving explosions meant for the dragons or the stray blasts of a fight. . In but an hour people returned to their shelters, fearing another assult.
He stands on the side of his old porch, the side that had not been destroyed by flying rubble. He could almost remember hearing the laughter of children, running around the yard playing with his two older brothers while his father watched. It had been eight years since any children had played outside. Now, he could see neglected streets full of holes, and houses that had reduced partially or entirely reduced to rubble. There were many children who had never seen the outside, or were too young to remember, for their parents had never let them out. A few dead plants, a few lingering people who watched each other with fear and suspicion in their eyes.
However, there was a small sprout of green that drew his eye from the striking contrast against the dismal grays and browns of everything else. He walked over to it. Grass. Miraculously, one small patch of grass still remained.
"You will see, you will see how good it will be"
He touched the blades gently. "Maybe . . ." he thought, "maybe next year, there will be children playing outside again. There will be birds, and grass /everywhere../ He stood up, and smiled. Next year, he'd be sitting on his porch without fear, watching the children play and laughing. His brothers . . . . .and his father would be happy to have it that way. They hadn't lived through the explosion that had blinded his eye, but he swore to live long enough to see it through.
"In the year to come."
Yes.maybe next year. This peaceful town would no longer be nothing but vast and desolate rubble, and this war would never again be fought. The man returns to his house, and descends to his confining shelter. Maybe he'd even miss the war, someday. In the year to come.
"There has been joy. There will be joy again." ~Alfred Bester