Dog tags

May 21, 2012
Sitting upon the cot that I was assigned, an overwhelming sigh had gathered in my lungs before forcing it out past my lips where it sounded more like a groan than anything else. The room was poorly lit by the distant light posts that bordered the outskirts of the base, with the occasional flickers of the fireflies that flew around aimlessly in the smoke contaminated sky. There was a silver lining across the twilight sky, but not the ones that people dream about- not the silver screen, but a thick layer of ash that blanketed the horizon where the sun just began to make it’s peek.

There were a few raps of someone’s knuckles against the door, signaling a near future entry, before the door was swung open and one of the boys had slipped himself in my quarters. His breathing was held, but rather heavy, as if he had been holding it in the climax of suspense as he was crouched on the wooden floor of the small cabin. There was a choked out laugh before he brushed his hands against his tattered pants and forced himself to a stand, hunched over- but a stand nonetheless. Sweeping that narrow strip of hair from out of his face, he smiled rather cunningly, like a fox.

“Sorry, I just had to meet you,” he whispered under his breath, in his best attempts to prevent himself from being caught.

“Meet me? What are you doing, you’re going to get in trouble.”

“Trouble?” An arrogant laugh interrupted his sentence. “Trouble, right, because you’re just so eager to get rid of me already.”

With furrowed brows, I grabbed the dog tag around my neck and tucked it in my shirt before I turned myself around to be directly facing the boy, to see if I could get a glimpse of his face. Thanks to the inconvenient lighting, however, such a glimpse was out of the question.

[ To be continued. ]





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