Flash Fiction Friday prompt 145: Rise and Fall. 878 words.
I was having trouble getting inspiration for this one, then Sineater suggested these and I decided…one for each boy!
Alan: Breathing
He lay on his stomach, as flat as he could against the rocky terrain.
All he could feel was the fast rise and fall of his chest against a particularly gnarly boulder as he breathed in and out, trying hard to keep the breaths steady.
Arms stretched out, pliers in one hand, as he tried to fix the small engine he could barely reach and definitely couldn't move.
He slipped and held his breath, hoping that he hadn't done any further damage. The boulder was becoming uncomfortable now, every rise of his chest felt restrictive, even through the armour plate his uniform sported.
The engine didn't explode, and he sighed in relief.
One more minute. Just one more wire to connect.
Just as he managed to join the wire and the engine hummed into life, his comms switched on.
'Alan. I better not find you in the simulator again before you finished your schoolwork.'
He gulped at the voice of his eldest brother, scrambling to get out of the sim and hide himself away.
Now his chest was rising and falling fast for a different reason…
Gordon: Boat
The rise and fall of a boat at sea had never failed to calm Gordon. It was his second most favourite pastime after swimming.
Ever since he first set foot on a boat when he was four years old, he'd known that this was what he wanted to do, where he wanted to be.
Gordon's brothers may have been born with wings for the air, but his wings were definitely for the ocean.
Once upon a time he thought that he'd have to fight his father tooth and nail to get into WASP, but Scott had stood by his side and Gordon had put forward a passionate argument. He'd been more than surprised when his Dad had said 'yes' immediately.
Up and down. Up and down.
He timed his breathing to the swell of the water and couldn't stop the grin from appearing. Gordon hoyed up the duffle bag further up on his shoulder, took one last breath of salt air and followed the other recruits down into the bowels of the sub.
Virgil: Machinery
Virgil's first passion was music. He'd been playing since he was two and barely able to reach the piano keys even on his mother's lap.
His second was art. It came right on the heels of music, and he'd been sketching and painting almost as long.
His third was medicine. At one time Virgil had seriously considered this as his primary career, especially given how frequently his brothers were injured or sick.
But eventually he settled for engineering as his career path.
Virgil can still remember the first time he put together a Meccano set his parents had bought him for a Christmas many moons ago. It was one that ran on an engine. It had taken a whole afternoon to put it together.
What he remembered the most was the rise and fall of the cogs within that drove the pistons that moved the engine. That was the memory that spurred him into engineering.
John: Horse Riding
The oldest four brothers had all been taught to horse ride, the eldest three by their Grandpa, Gordon by their mother.
All Scott wanted to do was gallop at top speed around the paddock. He didn't have the patience to learn the rise-and-fall trot for standard riding.
Virgil was the complete opposite. He loved the horses, learnt to ride, but he didn't want to actually ride, he just wanted to sketch them or ride out to places that he couldn't reach on foot and sketch some more.
Gordon, the joker that he was, barely managed to stay on a horse, often managing to get up backwards. It was not his preferred method of transport.
But John…John loved the horses, loved riding them. He loved the rise-and-fall trot because it enabled him to spend hours in the saddle and not get too achy. Some days, when life got to be too much, he'd saddle his favourite – aptly named Ginger – and take a packed lunch and ride to the furthest reaches of Gran Roca and stretch out on the rocks until the sun set and the stars came out.
He lost count of the amount of times Scott had ridden out to fetch him back before he froze.
Scott: Running
The rise and fall of his chest matched the rise and fall of his feet as he ran along the trail.
Each step matching a breath.
Pound-Breathe. Pound-Breathe. Pound-Breathe.
Running was his freedom. It allowed Scott to think, to mull over events, to sort memories from realities and to process anything he needed to.
Today was no different. He was running to clear his head after a long run of rescues that had left them all drained.
He needed to clear his head and get it back into the game. So he ran.
Pound-Breathe. Pound-Breathe. Pound-Breathe.
Pound-Breathe. Pound-Breathe. Pound-Breathe.
Pound-Breathe. Pound-Breathe. Pound-Breathe.
By the time he'd gone around the beach, up through the jungle, to the top of the volcano and back again, Scott felt clearer than he had done for a while.
He grabbed a towel and headed for the showers, ready to face another day.
