NOTE: Not mine.
NOTE #2: I haven't been getting any reviews. I am a review whore. It's awful. The only review I received for the last long and 'happenning', though not as humorous, chapter was from a friend of mine that I had to plead to review. Is it because my story is rubbish? If that's the case, send me rotten reviews! I don't care! I would just like to know if the story is being read, is all. Sigh. Please review... please.
PAIRINGS: Hawk/BJ (ish), Hawk/Trapper (in mention, or rather, in wishes as nothing happenned), Frank/Margaret
Closure, pt 4
Dear Beej,
Things couldn't be better. I feel as though everything is returning to normal, slowly becoming what it should be. I met with Klinger the other day, had a piss-weak beer. Others may complain about losing a leg, but I lost my taste buds to that war... seared off by the napalm of the alcohol world. No, not funny, I know , but ----- a tear in the thin paper, too much scribbling, thinks B.J., try to hard to cover your secrets and you'll only rip yourself up. But perhaps B.J. is only looking too hard for something, for anything besides Hawkeye's false rewrite of 'It All'. And Hawkeye has got to know that B.J. can see through the words, even with the tear there.
Visited everyone's favourite blonde bombshell of a Major. As much of a bulldozer as ever. How's Peg?
Love,
Hawkeye
And B.J. knows that Margaret came through on her promise, got Hawkeye to write to him. What did it take to sway the master of persuasion?
And for some reason, It -something- pains B.J., a kick in the gut, like when he sees Peg cry or stares out of a window and catches himself thinking about jumping...
B.J. thinks he loves Hawkeye.
But everybody loves Hawkeye.
Just like everybody loves Santa Claus, or everybody loves their grandfather who died before they can remember, or the comedian that made them laugh until tears ran and they forgot... (about?) everything.
B.J.'s chest is tight as though somebody is sitting on it, pressing the air from his lungs. How much, he wonders, do ghosts weigh?
Standing in a sunbeam, propped up against the counter, B.J. reads the letter again while making breakfast, one hand on the handle of the frying pan, the other with deft fingertips absently ripping patterns along the edge of the paper. He doesn't notice the smell until Peg's feet creak on the stairs and she asks him, squinting through the smoke, what's burning. He frantically crumples the letter into a pocket, eyes wide, as though caught, until he realizes that there is nothing to hide, it is just a letter... just a torn, scribbled, lousy lie of a letter. He waves, coughing, at the black smoke rising from the pan, while glancing at his wife, damned smoke making my eyes teary, and he keeps coughing and coughing. Peg rubs his back, and the smoke makes his eyes tear even more.
TO BE CONTINUED...
NOTE #2: I haven't been getting any reviews. I am a review whore. It's awful. The only review I received for the last long and 'happenning', though not as humorous, chapter was from a friend of mine that I had to plead to review. Is it because my story is rubbish? If that's the case, send me rotten reviews! I don't care! I would just like to know if the story is being read, is all. Sigh. Please review... please.
PAIRINGS: Hawk/BJ (ish), Hawk/Trapper (in mention, or rather, in wishes as nothing happenned), Frank/Margaret
Closure, pt 4
Dear Beej,
Things couldn't be better. I feel as though everything is returning to normal, slowly becoming what it should be. I met with Klinger the other day, had a piss-weak beer. Others may complain about losing a leg, but I lost my taste buds to that war... seared off by the napalm of the alcohol world. No, not funny, I know , but ----- a tear in the thin paper, too much scribbling, thinks B.J., try to hard to cover your secrets and you'll only rip yourself up. But perhaps B.J. is only looking too hard for something, for anything besides Hawkeye's false rewrite of 'It All'. And Hawkeye has got to know that B.J. can see through the words, even with the tear there.
Visited everyone's favourite blonde bombshell of a Major. As much of a bulldozer as ever. How's Peg?
Love,
Hawkeye
And B.J. knows that Margaret came through on her promise, got Hawkeye to write to him. What did it take to sway the master of persuasion?
And for some reason, It -something- pains B.J., a kick in the gut, like when he sees Peg cry or stares out of a window and catches himself thinking about jumping...
B.J. thinks he loves Hawkeye.
But everybody loves Hawkeye.
Just like everybody loves Santa Claus, or everybody loves their grandfather who died before they can remember, or the comedian that made them laugh until tears ran and they forgot... (about?) everything.
B.J.'s chest is tight as though somebody is sitting on it, pressing the air from his lungs. How much, he wonders, do ghosts weigh?
Standing in a sunbeam, propped up against the counter, B.J. reads the letter again while making breakfast, one hand on the handle of the frying pan, the other with deft fingertips absently ripping patterns along the edge of the paper. He doesn't notice the smell until Peg's feet creak on the stairs and she asks him, squinting through the smoke, what's burning. He frantically crumples the letter into a pocket, eyes wide, as though caught, until he realizes that there is nothing to hide, it is just a letter... just a torn, scribbled, lousy lie of a letter. He waves, coughing, at the black smoke rising from the pan, while glancing at his wife, damned smoke making my eyes teary, and he keeps coughing and coughing. Peg rubs his back, and the smoke makes his eyes tear even more.
TO BE CONTINUED...