Weeping angels ( Only Intro )

July 17, 2010
By WordSmith BRONZE, Sydney, Other
WordSmith BRONZE, Sydney, Other
2 articles 0 photos 6 comments

Favorite Quote:
"The price of freedom is eternall vigilance."

An eerie silence consumed the fog-covered valley only to be disturbed by the faint crackle of gunfire. The B52 super fortresses had just finished their nightly bombing run. The once fertile hill tops of the jungle lay distorted leaving a horrific scene of charred branches and smoldering iron. The disfigured landscape created a bleak atmosphere portraying mans irrepressible desire to slaughter one another, a desire only to be justified by the arrogance of politics and the corrupt ideologies that seemed to consume the modern world. The putrid stench of rotting bodies filled the air only to be accompanied by the searing heat of the flaming horizon; it was evident that even the most hardened of men would fail to comprehend the justification for such a senseless act.

Sergeant Hubley stood against the edge of an old burnt out APC, the Lifeless cold steel pinched his skin sending a cold chill up his spine. Lance Hubley was a strange individual; he was nothing more than a war torn corpse. His body was covered in scars and his mind tainted by conflict. Physically he was a tall and flimsy man. His physique resembled the horrors of war, the many scars and cuts that overwhelmed his face portrayed the image of a fallen patriot’s carcass lying within the field of battle.

However within this hideous war torn figure laid an honest man. Under the frayed flesh and weary bones that Hubley was burdened with, was a heart of gold. A man concerned for the well being of others and oblivious to the selfish distractions so many of his peers were manipulated by. He was known as the heroic leader of bravo platoon, the warrior who would rise up above the communist tyranny, batter the shield of freedom against the face of the socialist daemon and prevail within the storm known as Vietnam.

It was dawn on the latest battlefield for the war against communist oppression. Hubley and his men slowly marched through the wreckage of past conflict. The outline of the distant mountains ahead seemed to illuminate. Hubley struggled to decipher if it was the morning sun ready to spread its rays against the scorched earth or the remnants of a napalm burn off from the latest American bombing run.

Hubley sighed as he pulled out an old rusty Zippo lighter. His fingers shook ecstatically as he attempted to light his cigarette, yet another permanent defect he had gained from the war. Hubley turned around, smoke fumigating in and around his mouth only to escape and disappear among the billowing fumes of smoldering tanks. Hubley gazed upon the weary faces of his fellow soldiers. Their worn eyes stared back; their battle hardened faces expressionless and drained.

Hubley thought to himself; he struggled to contemplate how he had ended up in such an atrocious mess. Like most serving soldiers in Vietnam, Hubley had been conscripted. He had been randomly chosen to rise among his colleagues and fight for the nation he supposedly cherished so much. His fate had been sealed off by a draw, his existence in the world determined by a crumpled piece of paper with his name on it, a one way ticket to hell signed by Uncle Sam himself.

He remembered the bright spring day of 1966 when he received that letter. How the wax sealed envelope lay frayed within the corner of his mail box, lying there tranquil and motionless. He envisioned the wrinkles of the paper brushing against his fingers, the contour’s around the red wax seal that masked his fate and determined his future. Droplets of sweat fell upon the paper, soaking the edges and smudging the font of the address label. He remembered the anxiety that struck upon him that sunrise, it was evident that his seemingly ordinary morning was about to be obliterated within a thousand words of pain.

The ache he felt before the moments of the realization of his circumstance was unbearable. A crack echoed through his ears as his coffee mug slipped from his hands and split onto the marble floor, warm liquid spread all across the surface of his kitchen. The tranquil ooze seeped into the cracks of the floor, the floor of a house he would never see again. Tears balled up over his eye lids as he recalled the sleepless nights that became ever so common nearing the days of his deportation, the paranoia and fear that seemed to consume his mind. Hubley’s face turned red as he broke into a weep. Through the blur of his tear filled eyes he imagined the constant fights he had with the person he once loved so much, the howling of his daughter in the background, his three year old daughter’s innocent mind failing to comprehend the divorce papers he and his wife were signing. Hubley started to shake ferociously as he recalled hugging his daughter within his arms for the last time.

It was too much.

The author's comments:
This is only A small part of this story, if anyone would like to read the rest plz comment :)

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