Wednesday, February 3, 2016

Losing my Religion

The Writing Prompt for today is:   Losing my Religion
Losing my Religion
There been an explosion of violence and everything went black, a flash of light and then complete black. The noise, like the roar of a train tearing through the years in blocking out the rest of the world around him.

Sergeant Rogers had been standing before him, telling a story about a baseball game back home, the Yankees taking the field, etc. Milo had been on his right smoking a cigarette and laughing at every word Rogers said. On his left was Smitty, the kid who wasn't very smart but knew the ropes when it came to warfare. Rogers was animated telling his tail and the lieutenant let him tell the story knowing it would bolster morale.

It is been a rough month for the boys in Bravo Company guarding the front line from bunker 143. They had lost nearly one-third of their boys in the last week. The week before that another four had gone down. Now it was just those eleven boys, men really, guarding the front line.

Baker came to, blinking his eyes as he realized he wasn't dead. The world was blurry. His ears were ringing and every noise sounded like a distant echo inside of a metal box. Shouts of anger, pain and confusion echoed around him. He opened his mouth but only a dry cracking sound came forth. Something heavy had fallen on him and he pushed it away. It was heavy but soft and covered in something wet and wool. He struggled for a few moments before he was able to push the weight off of his body.

Instinctively his hand reached out through blurred vision and found Milos shoulder. It too was strangely wet, but he shook it hoping to find some sort of stability and foundation in a world that had suddenly gone crazy. His voice cracked again as he spoke, “Milo…buddy?”

He blinked his eyes and some of his vision returned. His hand was on Milo’s shoulder but the rest of Milo was gone. Not understanding, he looked back to what had landed on top of him a moment before. The remains of Sergeant Rogers was now a mangled piece of flesh.

His training kicked in and he found his rifle, quickly snatching it up and checking the internal mechanisms and making sure it was functional. A quick look to his left and he knew Smitty was no longer with him either. Smitty no longer had his left arm and both legs below the kneecap were missing. Small puddles of blood formed at the end of each stump, pumping in ever weakening sprays of gore.

Baker turned to the left and then right looking both directions down the trench. Faint white smoke drifted up around him. A crater had appeared on the opposite side of the trench, a deep gash of violence cut into the earth. It suddenly hit him what had happened. A mortar round landed behind Sergeant Rogers and destroyed the entire platoon. Sergeant Rogers had given his life acting as a shield and protecting Baker from the shrapnel and the explosion. 



.   .   .


This story was written in about eight minutes, some editing to correct errors and fix punctuation. This one felt rushed as I tried to squeeze in details yet move the story along. I wanted more emotional pull when it was revealed that the SGT had given his life to protect the only person on the squad that lived.
Word count: 524

About the 8 Minute Writing Prompt:
The 8MWH is a habit forming program where your aim is to simply write something for eight minutes straight each day, over time this will become a habit. The goal is to provide practice with writing and thus make you a better writer who can put words on paper easier. I plan on posting a short phrase and image each day in the morning and later that evening posting my story. Due to the time limit these will often be incomplete or possibly even suck. 
If you would like to join me, post wherever you like and add #8MWH to your post. Please remember that your stories can be about anything and the writing prompt may be a title, a phrase in the story, or heck, not even used at all in the story. It is meant to serve as nothing more than an inspiration.

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