Post by emt on Apr 30, 2017 21:45:41 GMT
(link to google docs in the title)
Wave Goodbye
Helena, Montana
April 2016
Why it’s so fucking cold in April? Helena, Montana is not really some warm place by the ocean. And the drizzle falling persistently over the cemetery didn’t really help. But all things aside, the reason why Ethan Thompson was feeling so cold was another one. His mother was lying in a casket, a few steps away from him, a few minutes away from being buried under six feet of dirty ground. So close, and yet so out of reach.
And neither Heidi’s body pressed tightly against his was able to warm him up. The cold Montana wind was seeping through his clothes, slithery sliding under his skin, permeating his bones. It was as if ice was running through his veins. He felt like his own soul was freezing, and perhaps that was as close to the truth as it could get.
Part of Ethan Milo Thompson was dying that day. And he was well aware of it.
His eyes wandered around the small crowd gathered around the coffin, their faces partially hidden by hoods and umbrellas, an unclear mass of humanity consisting of relatives,friends, teenagers who would love to be anywhere but here. And Ethan’s friends. Acquaintances. Former classmates. For all the day he heard their condolences, their encouragements, their recommendations to stay strong. For his sister.
Hypocrites.
In most cases, those were just empty words, fancy coy talks, a pathetic attempt to show some empathy for their losses.
His dad was still swimming for his life in the sea of whiskey he drowned his pain in the night before, too caught up in sorrow to realize it.
Heidi? Too young and innocent to even consider all those nice people were just feeding her some standard cant.
Ethan on the other hand, he couldn’t really miss it. Even if he wished he could. It’s times like this he hated his condition. A gift, according to many, most times a curse for him. Always know what someone is really feeling, seeing through the facade, reading the real meaning hidden behind their words can be really frustrating. For every hand he shook, for every My deepest and most heartfelt condolences he received without a shade of sincerity, or even care in it, a deep disgust for mankind grew inside his soul.
His sister’s face was buried deep in his chest. He squeezed her tiny body between his arms, kissing her head, trying to make her feel safe, in a moment when all the world seemed to crumble on her. Her endless sobs against his pec seemed to dictate the rhythmic cadence of his heartbeat, every single whimpering feeling like a dagger stabbing him through his heart.
For a brief moment, he felt like telling her that everything was going to be fine. But he never lied to the little girl.
And the day of their mother’s funeral didn’t seem a good time to start.
Her death was an hard blow for him. Watching her fade away, the leukemia consuming her in the span of a couple of months was disconcertingly.
But nothing compared to that moment when Heidi raised her head, looking at him in dismay, her eyes full of tears and red from that crying that she didn’t seem able to stop. That, maybe, she was hoping he could stop.
That was too much for him. Being the brother of a sixteen years old girl, especially a pretty one like Heidi wasn’t an easy task. A lot of boys hitting on her, sometimes way older than her, often with not the best intentions.
But being her brother and the central figure in her life? That was asking too much. No way he could have been a viable substitute for their mother.
For the first time in his life, he was scared. Scared he would fail her, scared he would fuck things up and hurt the only person he cared about.
He felt a hand reaching for your shoulder, squeezing lightly.
Rodney, his dad’s hunting and drinking buddy. He had the decency not to say a word, limiting himself to show his closeness in this moment of grief.
The priest was pacing around the casket, sprinkling it with blessed water before it was lowered in the graveyard. Ethan’s dad stood up and walked away, Heidi burst into tears once again.
He realized it was best for him to leave.
Too many expectations dropped on him at once. Being strong, being the one his sister would look up, becoming head of household instead of the broken and empty shell his father turned into. Too much pressure on a twenty-three years old guy who, right now, only wanted to lay down and cry.
He looked at the smiling picture of her mother placed next to the grave.
He didn’t say a word.
Not to his sister.
Not to his father.
Neither to all those supposed friends.
And not even to his defunct mother.
But in that very moment, the pain overwhelmed him, leading him to take the only selfish decision he ever made in his entire life. Something that, years later, he would have come to regret so badly.
He had to go. Anywhere but fucking Helena, Montana.
He simply closed his eyes, fighting the lonely tear that just formed.
Leaving in silence. Sneaking out of their lives without saying a word, avoiding any chance for them to make him change his mind.
This was his way to wave goodbye.
Helmand Province, Afghanistan
May 2016
Today’s mission felt like a blessing for him. Well actually any day away from his comrades in arms was a good day. Living among all those men, hearing the same old jokes, the same old racial slurs, seeing all that red, all that anger every time they opened their mouths was upsetting, painful. He asked to be moved from the bunkhouse.
“Did you hear the little princess? He asked for a single room. Does this look like a fucking hotel to you?” Resisting the urge to punch the Sergeant Major White right in the face required a dose of self control Ethan didn’t think he had in him. Such an arrogant prick… There was no arguing in that. But that arrogant prick had so many medals and honorable mentions to make him a God amongst men in the army, someone who didn’t need to demand respect.
He commanded it.
His second in charge instead, Corporal Miller, earned the respect among the troops, by treating them as human beings, trying to meet their needs, making their stay as comfortable as a six months holiday in a war zone could possibly be. Needless to say, it was thanks to his intercession that Ethan eventually got what he asked. “Unfortunately, our Royal Suite is unavailable at the moment. But I’m sure you will be comfortable enough in one of the isolation cell we arrange for you.” It was the best he could ask for. And he gladly took it.
Life through a scope is fascinating. You can see for miles, with such a clarity of details that you would never get with naked eye. Sure, you miss something when it comes to the overview, but that’s not an issue when you know exactly who to hit and when to.
Days of stakeouts, shadowings and surveillance wrote a very accurate report of the target’s daily routine. For some reasons, something was different in today’s pattern. It was taking him too long to reach the marked spot, that side alley where he would exhale his last breath. “Why did he stop now?” Ethan mumbled to himself, caressing his Barrett M98B. Shooting with that weapon was so easy and somewhat satisfying. Far better than his dad’s old hunting rifle. Precise, light, reliable. Not that he ever missed a shot, but it wasn’t bad, for a change, not having to struggle with calibration. One eye narrowed, the other one pressed on the gunsight, he had been following his target’s movements for the past hour, observed him talking with people he wasn’t supposed to, in places he wasn’t meant to be.
It didn’t took him long to realize that this sudden change could mean one thing only: whatever they were planning, whatever his target’s role was, it was going to happen very soon.
Following him through the crowded market was tricky to say the least, and he lost him among the mob a couple of time, only to find him moments later. Sneaky bastard.
Keeping his figure always at gunpoint, he waited and waited, minutes seeming like hours. Until he finally took the expected street, the one leading to his house. There was something poetic in dying in the same place you were born. Or at least that was Ethan’s only thought when he pulled the trigger. A perfect shot, the bullet plunged through his skull, a solitary spurt of blood squirting from the point of impact. Like a crimson fountain.
The last thing Ethan saw before methodically starting to clean and dismantle his rifle were his two fellow soldiers rushing to retrieve and hide the body. He eventually walked to the rendez-vous point, a mile south from his current location. He was greeted with an unexpected and probably out of place enthusiasm by the rest of his comrades in arms. Cheers, pats on the shoulder and all that jazz. “Finally Thompson lost his virginity! How was it? What did you feel when you blew that fucker’s head?”
“Nothing, really.” No anger, no joy, no regret. Nothing like the sense of having done something right, to have made the world a better place. Ethan just killed a man and the only thing he could feel was indifference. “I did what I had to do, how should I feel?” In all his years in the job of war, it was the first time Corporal Miller heard someone who just took a man’s life saying he wasn’t feeling nothing at all. And meaning it.
It was fascinating and disturbing at the same time. His green eyes were staring at the horizon, possibly beyond it. Almost as if he was trying to catch sight with what was going on at home. At the other side of the world.
Jones, a young veteran on his third tour said something that disgusted Ethan Thompson, giving him a first hint of how he didn’t belong there.
“You should learn to enjoy killing these camel drivers, son. You’re in the army now.”