Separate But Together (WIP)

Another explosion shook the ground under Marc’s feet. He didn’t hesitate this time and ran down the street. He ducked behind the crushed, burned out car. It straddled the curb, the front end smashed into a dented light post. Marc counted to ten and ran out from cover again.

Up ahead at the end of the street he could see the trench the soldiers had dug. A low barricade blocked off the road beyond. Marc saw the bobbing heads of the soldiers as they moved along the trench. One of the men stole a glance back at Marc and waved him over, yelling.

“Medic! We need a medic over here!” he screamed, his voice already raw and tired.

Marc ran forward, staying low with his arms up close to his face. He desperately tried to ignore the snap, whiz sound of bullets passing him. The last few feet Marc slid on his knees and stumbled into the trench.

One of the soldiers, Marc recognized him – Torres, helped him to his feet and directed him to a badly injured soldier. The man took some shrapnel in that last barrage; a jagged gash ran down the side of his neck. Marc quickly shuffled through the contents of his satchel until he found the bandages. He looked at the soldier’s jacket, at the name tag stitched over the left breast pocket.

“Anthony? I need you to look at me, focus on me for a second,” Marc said as calmly as he could. He continued to clean and dress the man’s wound as he spoke. “Are you hit anywhere else? Squeeze my hand. Anthony?”

The man’s eyes stayed unfocused and wide, staring at the smoke filled sky overhead. When he began to convulse Marc and another Torres held his arms down. He was a big man, which made it difficult. Continue reading


Jasmine

Like a lot of stories, this one begins a long time ago, before you or me. The sky used to be blue then. They said she liked to stare up at it, letting her imagination run wild as she saw the white clouds taking shape.

Huh? White? Yeah, kid. At least, that’s what they tell me.

Her name was Jasmine. She had raven black hair, straight and long. And her eyes… her eyes were unnaturally purple. No one knows why. Maybe she really was from the fairies, if you believe in such things.

The girl was about ten or so. She didn’t know anything about the outside world. Her mother kept her lock away, out of sight. Out of sight, out of mind. Or so the witch thought.

Was she really a witch? Who knows? Some tell about how the old woman stole Jasmine when she just a babe, locked her up in that horrible mansion with the high walls.

Are you going to keep interrupting me with questions, or am I going to get to tell a story here?

Where was I…?

Oh, yeah. Jasmine was in her favorite spot that day, staring up at the clouds, when she met someone from the other side of the wall…

  Continue reading


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