The Soldier regained consciousness slowly, coming back to reality like someone slowly surfacing from the bottom of a swimming pool. First came light, than gradually distorted sound and a blurry image. As his eyes fluttered in the bright daylight his vision gradually adjusted and his hearing cleared up. The Soldier looked around, all about him lay destruction and the dead. He looked at his own prone form, lay upon his back on a pile of rubble to one side of the street. His uniform was grey all over, it wasn't supposed to be grey, was it? He couldn't remember. Couldn't remember... His mind a haze, his memories drew up a blank. He new he was a soldier in a war and he knew the names of the objects he saw around him but past that, well, nothing.
Slowly he sat up and attempted to rise to his feet. He was shaky and tumbled sideways before managing to get upright. He left that for the moment, making do with sitting in the rubble for now. He looked around again. There were people around but none of them moved and many had injuries which must certainly have been fatal. Was he the only living thing here? He listened now, shutting his eyes he focused on what his ears had to share. He could here the distant sounds of artillery and just about pick out some gunfire but its barely audible nature must mean it was fairly far away indeed.
Opening his eyes he decided to try for his feet again. Rising like a toddler struggling with their first steps he cautiously drew himself into a horizontal position, swaying a little. Now up upon two feet, his head felt like it was coming back together a bit and steadiness was returning. However it brought with it a severe and undesired pain in the head, slowly he was starting to realise he hurt all over like he'd been beaten around some. He tried to wipe his dirt stained hands on his uniform and realised why it was grey; it had been coated in a fine layer of dust. Judging from the scenery around him, this dust was the spilt blood from dozens of ruined buildings. He wiped down and shook himself off as best he could. The uniform this revealed was fairly plain, the one colour all over and upon his person her carried various accoutrement. He now registered the holster at his hip, unclipping the holster's strap he was able to pull out his sidearm. Holding it loosely in his hand he looked it over, then tightening his grip and feeling a little better for some reason. The weight and texture in his palm was familiar and reassuring.
He wondered what could have happened here, how had he ended up unconscious in such a way and in this unknown place. He pondered how a gun could comfort him so and the thought turned some key in the door to his memory. A flood burst forth with a shocking and overpowering suddenness. His legs trembled, he fell to his knees as he looked around. They're dead, all of them, dead...
... One hand tightly held his gun, the other clutched his face as if to try and hold back the tears which now came to him. Kneeling in the ruined street he wept.
Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)
