[ OT ] Sunday Free Write : Leave A Story , Leave A Comment - Half Dozen Edition


 We ’ re Going Down 
 
 Chapter 1: Dinner 
 
 They were dropping like flies. Outnumbered and outgunned. Bullets zipped past his ears, lodging themselves in the bodies of his allies. Loud groans of agony were drowned out by the “ bratatat ” s of the vile instruments of death. Not a breath of fresh air could be inhaled as the metallic smell of blood filled his nose. The sand in the tunnel was all over the place, kicked up by the torrents and torrents of bullets flying through the air. 
 
 He panicked, struggling to aim at the enemies. The gun controlled his hand, he couldn ’ t stop it from trembling and shaking. 
 
 `` Hey, Jack - right?'' 
 
 Jack turned around, and he saw a big man, 
 
 `` Focus. They're just targets, that's all,'' he said. And as Jack looked, he winked and disappeared back behind the sandbags. 
 
 Jack turned his head towards his ally. The man ’ s eyes had a charming twinkle, yet the blue that they held reminded him more of a puddle than an ocean, he was only able to see the surface and not what lay beneath it. He seemed experienced in combat; Jack assumed two or three tours. His shooting and aim were impeccable, a stark contrast to Jack ’ s. They dodged under the cover of the sandbags, waiting for the next chance to shoot. 
 
 Jack nodded quickly, following the man ’ s advice. However, his aim did not seem to improve. The more shots he tried to take, the more frustrated he became. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he had to resist the urge to slam his weapon on the ground. 
 
 “ I ’ m Will. It ’ s okay. Don ’ t get frustrated. The fact that you ’ re here is enough. ” He continued, unusually calm amidst the commotion. 
 
 “ Here. ” Will pushed something into Jack ’ s hand. It was a penny. It was dirty and bloodied, but somehow it reassured Jack. 
 
 “ It ’ s my lucky penny. It ’ s been with me for three tours, kept me lucky. Charlie* won ’ t know what hit ’ em. ” 
 
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 The family was happy. They sat at the dining table, chatting and laughing. Some joke about a casserole recipe was being thrown around. The girl was bored, moving the bland food on her plate around with her fork. She heard familiar laughter and took her cue, laughing as believably as she could. She loved her family, but sometimes, well, most of the time, they just weren ’ t very funny. 
 
 “ Did you hear about John Lennon ’ s death a week ago? ” 
 
 “ I did, I ’ ll miss him. It ’ s so sad, really. The great artists always die young. ” The girl zoned out of the dinner table small talk at this point. She only snapped out of it when her mother called her. 
 
 “ Darling, can you get the special comb we bought yesterday from my drawer? I want to show your aunt how good it is. ” The girl ’ s mother asked, waving her arms in a dramatic gesture. The girl reluctantly dragged herself up the stairs and into the master bedroom. The forced laughter from downstairs was so loud it made it there. 
 
 She shuffled towards the polished oak dressing table her mother used to put on her many layers of make up every day. Pulling open the drawer, the girl heard a strange banging sound, like something was hitting against the inside of the drawer, jamming the drawer closed. She tried to reach inside the drawer, feeling for the uneven bristles of the special comb, but all she ran her fingers along were the smooth metallic surfaces of her mother ’ s vast array of hair products. She suspected her mother had a hoarding problem; it was as if the numerous anti-aging eye creams had obscured her vision of the number of beauty products she already owned. 
 
 The girl struggled with the drawer, attempting to brute-force her tormentor open. She tugged and winced, and yet her efforts were all in vain. The drawer was not going to budge. She painstakingly removed the beauty products from the open portion of the drawer, and then pushed her hand through a cranny, nudging the items, hoping that the drawer would open. 
 
 And open it did. Unfortunately, as the drawer was pulled open with a nasty “ shhhhk ” sound, a little red box fell out. The girl soon became curious of the boxes contents. The box seemed to be calling out the girl ’ s name. She knew it was wrong to look in her mother ’ s private stash, but it was far too tempting. The girl gravitated towards the temptress. The temptress ’ hands reached out, black lace chains pulling her arms towards 
 her. 
 
 It revealed an old photograph and a ring. The old photograph was black and white, and was of a young woman in her 20s -30s and a man about the same age. They had their hands around each other. The way fiery orange locks danced around the woman ’ s face, the way the lips curved, resembling a cherry and the way the eyebrows arched gracefully, framing the woman ’ s face reminded the girl of someone. It was her mother. Her mother looked so much more beautiful back then. Her smile seemed so much more…genuine. The girl used to admire her mother. 
 
 The man was tall, average build. There was nothing popping out at her about his face, but a tattoo on his neck of an upside down eagle was obvious. It was detailed, somehow conspicuous yet humble enough to be missed out at the same time. The black lines did twirls and loops into a majestic eagle head. The eagle ’ s eyes looked menacing, its stare piercing through the photo-paper. 
 
 The ring was simple. However, it still looked expensive. The elegance of the metal frame holding the crystal clear gem could be compared to the arch of a swan ’ s neck, and it intrigued her. The ring, the man, the man ’ s arms around her mother…Suddenly, the girl pieced it all together. How could her mother do such a thing? Her father was the most kind-hearted person she knew and yet… The girl shook her head, it couldn ’ t be real. 
 
 Ironically enough, the laughter and chat still continued in the dining room. The conversation topic had moved onto an earthquake warning. 
 
 “ Darling, can you find the comb? ” Her mother called for the girl, then resumed her enthusiastic chat with the girl ’ s aunt about the new IBM computer they had. The girl quickly closed the box and put it back in its place. But then she stumbled upon something else, a stack of money. 
 
 Her mother was a housewife; there was no reason for her to have a secret stash of money in her drawer either. There was a lot of cash in the stack, probably about a thousand dollars. She assumed that it was her mother ’ s emergency fund. The girl nonchalantly took a hundred dollar note and snuck it into her jean pocket. Her mother probably wouldn ’ t notice anyway. She could use the money to buy that camera which could produce colored photos, the one her father refused to give her for Christmas, and no one would be the wiser. Her heart beat echoed in her head. If her mother saw her doing this, she would be… 
 
 After swiftly putting back the stack of money, the girl dashed down the stairs with the comb, head still brimming with questions. What was her mother doing with the money? Who was the man with the eagle tattoo? As she sat back down at the dining table, the girl had more questions and no answers. She couldn ’ t confront her mother with the newfound information without revealing that she had looked through her items in the drawer. 
 
 The girl continued playing with her food, rejecting her aunt ’ s questions. She glared at her mother, angered by the photograph in the red box. Her mother didn ’ t take the hint, not even noticing the girl ’ s harsh stabs at her steak. 
 
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 Ensuring the penny was safely in his pocket, he prepared to aim. Jack pressed his body to the shoulder piece of the rifle, lowering his head to meet the cheek piece. Focus. He scoped in. He saw more enemies running towards him. They were surrounded. If they ran back through the tunnel, they would be met with an ambush. If he stayed there, the enemies would easily overwhelm them and rest of his company wasn ’ t doing much to slow them down. Battle cries were uttered as the many enemy troops dashed towards them. 
 
 Only a few of Jack ’ s company were left standing. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

