Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)“It's not the bomb killing me,” she said, her lips spitting venom along with the blood. “It's you. You were too slow.”
“Sally! I-” His voice was a defeated croak. “I tried.”
“Tried? The world's full of those who've fucking tried!”
“But I... I couldn't... the crossfire was...”
“Tried!” She spat out the word in contempt. Her final utterance before she died.
And Nix screamed.
He had screamed aloud. He knew that as he struggled into wakefulness. His own cry had woken him up. There was still at least an hour before the alarm went off. He shfted in the bed, sheets wet with sweat.
How many times need he relive this, he wondered. Relive? No, that wasn't quite right. Sally had said nothing of the kind as she'd died. She'd smiled, told him to remember the good times they'd had. Not, he noted, some patriotic spiel about being glad to die for her country. Just... remember the fun.
Well, his dreams had failed there, all right, hadn't they? Every time he recalled what had happened, it had shifted further ad further away from any comfort he might have gained from having done his best. His best had not been good enough.
And Sally had died.
Well, he'd never get back to sleep now. Sighing, he shuffled from the bed, and made his way to the bathroom.
***
“Hey, Nix.”
He looked up, bleary-eyed from the inconsequential email. He was not some weakling that needed a good solid eight hours, or whatever the prevailing wisdom was. But if the didn;t get three, he was always a wreck the next day. And he'd had a long way short of that.”
“Out on the town last night, were we?” asked Morrie. “Shit, your eyes look like... what was that thing you said last week? Snowpissed?”
“Like pisholes in the snow,” he said, sadly. “Yeah, I... me and some friends...”
No point telling why he'd really come to work looking so destroyed. It was never a thing he liked talking about.
“Jack wants to see you,” said Morrie.
“Oh shit. That's all I need. What have I done now?”
Morrie smiled.
“He didn't seem pissed, if that's any help. Said something about having a job for you. Something suited to your particular talents.”
“Oh fuck. That's all I need!”
Sighing, he stood, and made his way towards the glassed-off cubicle in which the supervisor held court.
“You wanted to see me, Jack?” he said, poking his head around the doorway.
“Ah yes, thanks for coming in, Nix. I... I have a rather unusual request to make. And frankly... I'm not sure if anyone else is up to it.”
“Sounds scary,” he said.
“No, nothing like that.”
He gestured through the glass, towards where an attractive, curvy girl sat, in front of a row of desks. “You know Clarissa, right?”
“Not really. I mean... we might have exchanged ten words in the break room... but...”
“Well, I want you to get to know her,” said Jack, “a lot better. Allow me to explain.”
“Sally! I-” His voice was a defeated croak. “I tried.”
“Tried? The world's full of those who've fucking tried!”
“But I... I couldn't... the crossfire was...”
“Tried!” She spat out the word in contempt. Her final utterance before she died.
And Nix screamed.
He had screamed aloud. He knew that as he struggled into wakefulness. His own cry had woken him up. There was still at least an hour before the alarm went off. He shfted in the bed, sheets wet with sweat.
How many times need he relive this, he wondered. Relive? No, that wasn't quite right. Sally had said nothing of the kind as she'd died. She'd smiled, told him to remember the good times they'd had. Not, he noted, some patriotic spiel about being glad to die for her country. Just... remember the fun.
Well, his dreams had failed there, all right, hadn't they? Every time he recalled what had happened, it had shifted further ad further away from any comfort he might have gained from having done his best. His best had not been good enough.
And Sally had died.
Well, he'd never get back to sleep now. Sighing, he shuffled from the bed, and made his way to the bathroom.
***
“Hey, Nix.”
He looked up, bleary-eyed from the inconsequential email. He was not some weakling that needed a good solid eight hours, or whatever the prevailing wisdom was. But if the didn;t get three, he was always a wreck the next day. And he'd had a long way short of that.”
“Out on the town last night, were we?” asked Morrie. “Shit, your eyes look like... what was that thing you said last week? Snowpissed?”
“Like pisholes in the snow,” he said, sadly. “Yeah, I... me and some friends...”
No point telling why he'd really come to work looking so destroyed. It was never a thing he liked talking about.
“Jack wants to see you,” said Morrie.
“Oh shit. That's all I need. What have I done now?”
Morrie smiled.
“He didn't seem pissed, if that's any help. Said something about having a job for you. Something suited to your particular talents.”
“Oh fuck. That's all I need!”
Sighing, he stood, and made his way towards the glassed-off cubicle in which the supervisor held court.
“You wanted to see me, Jack?” he said, poking his head around the doorway.
“Ah yes, thanks for coming in, Nix. I... I have a rather unusual request to make. And frankly... I'm not sure if anyone else is up to it.”
“Sounds scary,” he said.
“No, nothing like that.”
He gestured through the glass, towards where an attractive, curvy girl sat, in front of a row of desks. “You know Clarissa, right?”
“Not really. I mean... we might have exchanged ten words in the break room... but...”
“Well, I want you to get to know her,” said Jack, “a lot better. Allow me to explain.”