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Date Posted: Thursday, April 07, 11:43:38pm
Author: sk
Subject: three oldies
In reply to: EllenM 's message, "The First Golden Oldies Drabble Challenge" on Wednesday, April 06, 04:57:41pm

Second person/future tense

You will walk down these corridors for many years.

Gradually, familiar faces will disappear, their responsibilities taken up by a long series of replacements.

You will grow older, but they will not. Forever new and untried, their experience shall be bought dear.

Above, the seasons of growth and decline move more quickly, just a few weeks from blossom to decay, from spring to autumn.

Here the cycle is extended to months, sometimes even to years.

You are, perhaps, a tree, with a longer span, but eventually, you, too, will fall.

* * *


We’ve been in place for a couple of hours, squatting in the dark so we can get a jump on a bunch of gun runners. Intel says they’re here, and that they’re most vulnerable just after 6 am. The night-vision goggles always give me a headache, so I slip them off after we get in position. Right now I can’t see my hand in front of my face, but that will change. I don’t like to think about how many times I’ve done this, waiting for black to become gray, and gray to become pink. Waiting for the dawn so we can kill someone in the light.

* * *


How many times have you handed him his weapons -- 100? 150? Three years in Section, going out maybe once a week, each time a little harder. For a smile and a gun, you get a “Thanks -- see you later.” Later comes with a few words about closure and losses, more now than at first.

Lately he seems more worn down, less resolve in his step and less relief with his return. Each time a little less concern for himself, each time less thought for the next. Each time a little closer to the end.

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