You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » Relief » Post 1816198 | Search
This is a question Relief

Last week, I thought we'd run over and killed something. After steeling myself to get out and find the body of somebody's beloved pet, I found we'd squished a bin bag. When has something turned out not as grim as you first thought?

(, Thu 20 Dec 2012, 12:38)
Pages: Popular, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

« Go Back

Christmas 1995
Not much of a writer. It's long and probably boring.

A time that should have been spent with family, some friends and defintely beer, but no.
He instead found himself in a very cold Sarajevo, it least it was going to be a white Christmas but peace seemed to be an alien concept to the locals who instead prefered to demonstrate thier version of 'Merry Christmas' with the clack-clack of an AK-47. Noisy things. It wasn't really their fault, after fighting for 4 years they'd got into the swing of things and maybe seemed a little reluctant to stop.

Guard duty at Zetra Stadium was a usually quiet affair as those on the outside, far beyond the sight of those in the Stadium, went about their business of settling scores or whatever business required a 7.62mm round. The Stadium had been a jewel of the city, famous for being party to Torvill & Deanís Bolťro and subsequent gold medal, it now lay in ruins, its roof black and twisted from the fire that had raged after the rain of mortar fire, its insides ravaged and devoid of the cityís Olympic spirit. The Stadium once again played host to people from many nations but they were not here to watch skaters dance. These dressed in fatigues and carried their own guns and looked out and readied themselves to play peacemakers to battle weary people.

The sangar was a hodgepodge collection of debris and sandbags and gave no relief from the cold, but that wasnít its job. He stood in the cold, layered in as many clothes he could put on but he was still cold. Outside the Stadium, but inside the thin but so important fence, soldiers scurried around carrying out their never endings jobs as fast as possible. It doesnít pay for a soldier to sit around, he is soon found a task that will turn out to be unpleasant and time consuming . His rifle is cold too, but it doesnít complain, unlike him.

The Rules of Engagement here are strict but straight forward. NATO has decided to play by a different set of rules from the UN and all know it. The ordinary people beyond the fence go about their business. Are they going to work? Perhaps to find a loved one? Maybe to bury one? They stay clear of the fence, itís not wise to bring the attention of the new soldiers from the Stadium, they are different from those in the blue helmets. One group, however, is different, their body language marks them as confident and sure of themselves, but they seem only young, maybe only fifteen. Why are they coming to the fence? Donít they know the rules?! Weíre different, we donít wear blue helmets. He becomes agitated, not panic mind, heís a soldier after all. What should he do? Tell someone? Leave the sangar? What? But he knows. They donít leave, one leans on the fence looking in, no, donít do that! Go away! But itís time. His heart thumps, he shakes as he brings the rifleís working parts to the rear and let fly forward as he releases the cold metal. Move on! Move on! You are a child, he doesnít want to do this. Now the safety is off and he looks down the sight, he is sweating in the freezing cold, his hands clammy against the cold plastic of the rifle. Go, please go. He doesnít want to do this. Now there is panic, the boy doesnít move and then.... calm.....

Itís time, it was always going to be this way. Everything up to this point has merely been the foreplay. Itís time. Calm. The soldier stares down the sight, itís only a hundred metres. Calm. Finger on the trigger. Breath, do it on the in-breath now, just like on the ranges. One breath, in.....

The boy takes one last look at the soldiers behind their fence and swiftly turns on the spot before moving to catch up with his friends. Away they go to who knows where.
(, Fri 21 Dec 2012, 15:46, closed)
You're not much of a writer.
That was long and probably boring.
(, Fri 21 Dec 2012, 16:09, closed)
At least I can't be done under the trades description act :)

(, Fri 21 Dec 2012, 16:20, closed)
Preferred some of your other ones about landmines.
.
(, Fri 21 Dec 2012, 16:46, closed)
Ta.
Didn't really want to make this one a funny one, looking more for the emotion. I don't think I quite got it, but hey ho, if you don't try...
(, Fri 21 Dec 2012, 16:54, closed)
Always wise to avoid making an anecdote funny when posting to a comedy website.

(, Fri 21 Dec 2012, 17:45, closed)
You may have a point there, Shambo.
I'll try and do better next time. Promise.
(, Fri 21 Dec 2012, 18:26, closed)
OH GOD DON'T SHOOT ME I WAS ONLY JOKING OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD

(, Fri 21 Dec 2012, 18:49, closed)
Heh.
God bless you fella :) I'd give you big sloppy hug.
(, Fri 21 Dec 2012, 18:53, closed)
Hubba hubba!

(, Fri 21 Dec 2012, 19:10, closed)
Saucy minx!

(, Fri 21 Dec 2012, 19:29, closed)
well written
sounds like a harrowing experience; thankyou for sharing
(, Fri 21 Dec 2012, 17:24, closed)
Definitely not boring
That was chilling and very powerful. I'm glad it turned out the way it did.

As to the writing, you're a lot better than you think you are. There's a distinctive voice here, something lots of people try for but never find. It fits the material perfectly. Please write more.
(, Fri 21 Dec 2012, 21:58, closed)

« Go Back

Pages: Popular, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1