Soldier of Mawat
Militaires-Sans-Frontieres
77
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Posted - 2013.06.05 04:23:00 -
[1] - Quote
It was the same dream again, the one that he woke from in a cold sweat. He first had the dream about six months ago but didnGÇÖt have the dream again for three months. Now though, he was having the dream at least once a week. This night though was different.
It started the same way it always started, in the village from his very first mission as a merc. He entered the room they were in, so many of them just lying there. Men, women, and children had been herded into the room and slaughtered. He moved to them and saw the anguish on their faces, so sickened and horrified was he that he didnGÇÖt even see that the bodies had been rigged with explosives. The explosion triggered in slow motion beginning with a blinding flash. Then the pressure wave hit him, he could feel his entire body being compressed by the pressure, like the weight of a mountain on every inch of flesh. There was no pain but he felt himself die, felt his consciousness flee from the body. His first death.
His vision switched to black, no feeling in his arms or legs but he felt as if falling. Slowly as if from some distance he saw something coming toward him, he knew what was coming. Everything was growing brighter as it grew closer, a fresh grave dug just for him. The grass around the grave looked so bright and alive, but the depths of the grave was so black and felt of death. He fell into it expecting to hit earth but he continued to fall. Suddenly light blossomed and filled his vision, he was falling from the sky. Clouds flashed past as he sped towards the ground. He landed in his body, huddled behind the cover of concrete as he reloaded his weapon.
This body felt older, deadlier, the action of reloading was swifter and seemed effortless. This body experienced the civil war that had torn apart this city. He pulled his rifle above the edge of the concrete searching for targets, a man showed his head and the body took his life. A man with a mass driver had been waiting, once again time slowed. He saw the projectile as it exited the barrel, saw it spin and glint in the sunlight. Usually the men who took his life in his dreams were vague shadowy wraiths, but this time he was looking at copy of himself. His own image was standing there holding his death, and his copy was laughing like a maniac. The laughing filled his ears, the laughing of a mad man. The round struck the ground next to him and again a flash. He felt the pressure but also felt the cutting shrapnel. Again there was no pain and again he felt the body die.
Falling yet again, the grave closing in to swallow his soul. This time the light that came was the stars, his consciousness flew through space. This body was on a space ship traveling through the maze of hallways. He jogged with some other bodies that looked similar to him. He heard a shout to turn around, he turned and halfway there time slowed. He finally turned to see a mirror image of himself come around the corner with a shotgun, slowly as if underwater . He looked in his doppelgangers eyes and he saw madness, the mouth open in laughter. The shotgun flashed, he watched the blast impact his chest and rip it apart. He looked down to see his ribs and red meat, blood streamed from the wound
This time the fall to the grave did not find a body. This time he fell into the grave and felt as if he fell into an ocean. His vision turned red, a deep crimson, and terrified he realized he was drowning in blood. He felt the thick liquid seep down his throat and fill his lungs. Then there was a voice, his voice, and his voice was screaming. All the bodies he occupied and lost were screaming. The multitude of voices hurt his ears; he so desperately wanted them to stop. He could do nothing as he sank into the blood, the screaming growing louder in his ears.
Jerking awake he bolted upright, the feeling of terror lingering. His entire body was soaked in sweat, the blankets tossed to the floor. He breathed heavily and wildly looked around his room. Everything was calmly lit in soft moonlight, a complete opposite of what he felt inside. A single thought crossed his mind that frightened him more than the nightmare had. Am I going insane? |