PoliFi

Ok, so I noticed that none of us have really gone in this direction so let's try out some political fiction. any kind of setting, any characters, just make it political.

Animal Story: "Badgered"

Topic: Animals

You asked us to "...write a story prominently featuring an animal." Here is my attempt to do so.

“Badgered”

“Okay guys. It's question time,” Lt. Alan Brown told the small group of Iraqi reporters in the makeshift press area outside of the British Army headquarters in Az Zubayr.

The group of three reporters sitting in the green folding chairs in front of the music stand he used as a podium was the same group of reporters he had dealt with everyday for the last three months. They used to ask questions about the reconstruction funds or British withdrawal dates and the binder he brought with him to these sessions had the answers to those sorts of questions. But lately, their questions always focused on a new topic and it was a topic Lt. Brown didn’t care to get into again. But he didn’t think these reporters would cooperate with the preferences of a British spokesman.

“Mr. Alan sir, could you please address the rumors that are swirling ferociously and vigorously throughout Az Zubayr about your man-eating badger beasts,” the Iraqi reporter in a faded black suit and white sneakers asked in lightly accented English as he stood up from his folding chair.

“So we’re going to go down that road again are we, Mr. Al-Bayati? I thought we covered this last week,” Lt. Brown responded. For some reason, Abbas Al-Bayati always referred to him as Mr. Alan instead of Mr. Brown or Lt. Brown. No one knew why he did so, but it had become quite the joke around the office.

“Mr. Alan, sir. This is a most furiously pressing issue for the free peoples of the Republic of Iraq. The people demand an answer from the Coalition Authority about this vigorous threat to our people’s safety.”

“Okay, Mr. Al-Bayati, we will play this little game again. There are no verified reports of any witnesses seeing giant badgers roaming around anywhere inside the city of Az Zu….”

“But outside of the city?” Mr. Al-Bayati cut off Lt. Brown. Lt. Brown sighed.

“There are no verified reports of any witnesses seeing giant badgers roaming around outside of Az Zubayr either.”

“Yes Mr. Alan, sir, but the vigorous man-eating badger beasts appeared only after the occupation of Southern Iraq by the British army. Before you arrive, there are no reports of man-eating badger beasts, but after you arrive, there are many reports of man-eating badger beasts. People say that the beasts have attacked many livestock animals and many small children and people are very afraid to come out in the moonlight to face the man-eaters.”

“What exactly are you implying, Mr. Al-Bayati?”

“Mr. Alan, sir, I am asking if you have a comment about the many peoples that believe that the British Army released the ferocious man-eating badger beasts after coming to Iraq.”

“I just want to be clear here on what you are saying Mr. Al-Bayati. You think that her Majesty’s royal army released a pack of gigantic man-eating badgers to attack the civilian population of the Basra Province after that same army completely decimated Saddam Hussein’s real army in a normal war and if that same army chose to, it could easily kill every man, woman, and goat in city of Az Zubayr and the rest of the Basra Province.” He watched as they scribbled that quote down and he knew he was going to pay for that comment later when that quote reached the higher-ups.

“Some peoples, including myself, believe that, yes, Mr. Alan.”

“Mr. Al-Bayati, I can unequivocally state that Her Majesty’s government has not released gigantic, man-eating badgers into Az Zubayr or any other place on Earth or Iraq. We also haven’t released serpent eggs into the Euphrates or kidnapped cows to feed the udders to the six-armed, elephant-headed aliens that haunt all of our waking dreams,” Lt. Brown said.

“So that is a complete denial then about the man-eating badger beasts?”

“Yes, that is a complete denial,” Lt. Brown said as he stared down the reporter. He sighed and looked out at the other reporters. “Does any one here have a question about anything other than the badgers?”

After about ten seconds of silence, Lt. Brown closed his binder and walked away from the crowd. He continued walking even as the reporters screamed questions about the man-eating badger beasts. Lt. Brown walked until the voices of the reporters were a distant sound and he continued to walk for twenty or thirty minutes until he reached a somewhat desolate part of town.

Before the introduction of the Americans’ newest idea, the buildings in this part of town could be very dangerous place because of the insurgent activity. Well, maybe it was Saddam's idea and Americans stole it, but either way, the area now felt almost completely empty.

Lt. Brown walked up to one of the alleys between the abandoned low-rise buildings, drew his sidearm, and began to whistle the tune of the song, "Hitler Has Only Got One Ball." He continued to whistle for several minutes while peering into the alley.

Lt. Brown then heard a sound behind him and he turned to see what it was. As soon as he turned, he saw three large badgers walking towards him in a near unison of step. They were each about the size of small child with fur covered in grime, sand, and faded stains of red on their paws and mouth. Lt. Brown kept his handgun drawn as the badgers came close enough for them to jump at him, but stayed far enough away to be out of his arm’s reach.

“Now guys, I thought we already talked about this problem you have with kids and cows,” Lt. Brown said aloud as he used his free hand to sign the words in American Sign Language.

Ritual Interrupted

Hey, wake up. You okay? Relax, just sit back. I want to start from the beginning.

I have a feeling that you haven't forgotten me. But just in case, I want to refresh your memory.

So it all started years back, I was about seven. My Parents died before I could remember them, and I ended up living with my aunt and uncle. They were good people, but they weren't my parents, and there was always a rain cloud over my head. Figuratively speaking.

Back then we used to have this neighbor, old guy; bald, thick glasses. His name was Gorski. All the kids were afraid of him and told stories, 'old Gorski killed his wife forty years ago,' 'made his kids into a meat pie and ate them.' I never believed the stories though. I mean, kids used to say the same things about me, 'what are you gonna do, kill me, like you killed your parents?'

So I never bought into what people said.

The weird part started, like I said, when I was about seven; maybe eight. I was walking home from school one day, and you were waiting for me down the street from my house. There were four of you, but Jeremy Bellows was the alpha, the rest of you... you were just his lackeys.

It started the same way as usual, I'd walk, you'd start calling me names and pushing me, or try to take my bag. My uncle always told me to ignore you, and I tried. But sometimes I couldn't runaway before you knocked me down and threw my stuff into a tree. That day was different though. That was the day Jeremy told you to hit me, and you did. Remember? Jeremy never did anything himself, he just stood there, with a hungry smile shouting orders at the rest of you.

You okay? Wake up.

Smack.

There you go. Sorry about the crack to the head... and the duct tape. I think it's safer this way. Anyway.

I don't think it lasted very long, just a few seconds curled up on the ground getting kicked before you all ran away.

I lay there, curled up, my head protected in my arms. Then something poked me.

"Hey, up, get up," old Gorski was poking me with his cane. I peeked out from my arms.

The old man reached down and picked me up with one hand. He stood me straight, "What wrong with you," he had a heavy Polish accent, "why you let those boys beat you, eh? You girl, or something?"

I wasn't scared, I just looked into his eyes and let go. All the tears I wanted to cry in front of my aunt and uncle, all the pain I wouldn't show in front of you. Sorry if I'm being overly dramatic, but things bottle up, you know. Like I said I let go, and threw my arms around my savior, crying; my nose bleeding on his shoulder.

Gorski picked me up, "Come, we get you cleaned up."

As he carried me to his house I could see Jeremy looking around a corner, he wasn't happy.

Gorski cleaned me up, put ice on my broken nose, "There, no more crying," he said, "Next time those punks put boots to you, you punch them in face, eh?"

I put my head down.

Groski laughed.

He became like a father to me, after that. I would stop by his place after school. My aunt and uncle thought I had made friends. You know he taught me to read Latin? Taught me how to fight, too. His wife and son were dead and I think he blamed himself, though I don't believe he killed them.

Around the time I was ten some kids came forward saying that old Gorski had touched them. I think you might remember this part, you were one of them. The accusations were bullshit, we both know that, don't we? But after you came out, Gorski told me that is wasn't wise for us to spend time together. I was crushed, I felt like I was losing another parent. But that's not what this is about.

The last time I saw him, he gave me a stuffed bear that was supposed to go to his son. He'd been holding on to it for years. I know, I was a too old for a stuffed bear, but it was the only thing I had to remember him by, and I kept it in my room under my bed.

I kept that bear for years.

I was alone in my room, holding it, during his sentencing. I remember my aunt and uncle talking about it; saying that the sentence wasn't enough.

I hadn't thought about any of this for years because after we moved, I lost the bear. I remember that, when I couldn't find it, I was anxious. I felt like not having the bear was making it harder for me to remember Gorski. Honestly, until last year, I had completely forgotten the old man, like a dream that's harder to remember the longer you're awake and gone by the time you're brushing your teeth.

I became quiet again, for a long time. Until last year, when everything became clear.

I was working for a shipping company, the processing plant. Dead end job; I was miserable. There was one night, where I had to stop at the store after work. I hating having to do stuff like that, cuz I was always covered in dirt and sweat, and I would have rather just gone home to shower. But as I'm in the parking lot, I hear laughing.

When I turned around I saw a group of high school aged kids and heard a bottle break. The kids were laughing at something on the ground, one of the boys kept pulling cash out of a wad in his hand and dropping it on the curled up mess on the ground.

"Here you go old man, no hard feelings," every time one of the boys would kick the dirty lump on the ground the ring leader would through more money. He had a wolfish smile. I snapped.

They had no clue what happened. They were all so focused on their game that they didn't see me walk up.

The feeling of my fist impacting the lead boys face was the most satisfying experience of my life. I could feel something crack, and my knuckles stung, I had never hit anyone before, not even when I was still getting picked on. I didn't stop there. I hit the boy again. This time I felt teeth shatter and the boy's face sprayed blood as he hit the floor. Something inside of me felt as if every law in the universe just broke, like what was happening wasn't supposed to have happened. I turned and hit another. The boys ran, leaving their leader alone with the madman who would probably have killed him.

But I didn't kill him.

I picked up the lump, now a dirty old drifter, "Are you okay, old timer?" I asked.

He mumbled and nodded his head.

I helped him stand, his head was bleeding, but it wasn't bad, "Come on, let's get you cleaned up," I said. I left the punk on the ground, and drove the drifter to the emergency room.

He was groggy in the car. I thought he might have a concussion. He kept talking about Germy Tuck. He wasn't making sense.

The guy smelled like smoke, not cigarettes, but like a trash fire; burning cardboard and plastic. The smell stings the nose and eyes. His clothes were dirty and ashy, and his skin was dark tanned, and leathery. He looked like he had been through hell.

The stone-faced, professional continuances of hospital staff could barely contain their disapproval at the late arrival of the uninsured drifter, but they had to admit him.

I didn't have to wait around, I could have left but I felt bad for the guy. At the very least I could have left him a couple bucks when he woke up.

After about half an hour, one of the nurses came up to me, "Are you Michael?"

"Um... yeah, I brought the homeless guy, is he okay?"

"Yes he's fine, it was just a bump on the head," She hesitated, "He asked me to bring this out to you," The nurse handed me a bear; an old, tattered, stuffed bear. A bear that used to wait for me under my bed when I was nine.

"Where is he," I asked. I got up, not waiting for an answer, and walked into the hallway, the nurse followed me. The moment that bear touched my hands I remembered everything. I remembered Gorski's face, the way he looked when I mispronounced my Latin, and him teaching me how to fight. How could I have forgotten him for so long I asked myself.

"Sir, is everything okay?" The nurse was working her thick ankles to catch up with me.

"Where's Gorski?"

She looked at me as if I were a crazy person, "Who?"

"The homeless guy I brought in."

"I'm sorry sir, but I don't know what you're talking about."

Hard to believe, I know. The second I remembered the old man from my childhood, he was gone. Disappeared from the hospital; no trace. And no memory of him, except for the bear, of course, and my own memory.

The next day I checked with the department of corrections. Janek Gorski died five years before, and then I remembered something else, do you know what that was?

Gorski died about the same time Jeremy did. Your friend Jeremy. And like a fog lifting, his ramblings made sense. Gorski wasn't talking out of his ass, about germs, he was telling me that Jeremy took the bear. And now I can't shake the thought that, for one night, Gorski did something, maybe put himself through absolute hell to bring back a memory.

Since that night I've been following every trail I can, to find out what was really happening that night. How does an old man, dead five years, come back to life and run into me by pure chance? Why? Why does he finger my old, school bully to be at the center of this? Why can't...

You know what? Fuck it. I find you in a candle lit room, drawings on the floor, all surrounding a half dead ten year old. I don't doubt you have, at least some answers for me. If you told me it was magic, I'd probably believe you, seriously if a dead guy can can bring me a bear, I'll believe anything. But I think I'll get more answers from those books and journals you have over there.

So we're done here, this might hurt, hopefully I'll snap your neck on the first hit, though I don't know how a lead pipe will work out. So it may take a few tries.

Crack.

El Chupa

The room was dark and filled with a mildew odor. The florescent lighting down the lanes flickered on and off and gave the feeling of emptiness beyond its length.

BANG.

The last round roared out of his custom revolver and he jammed a thumb down on the call button for more silhouette targets. A small red light strobed above his booth.

click clack dink plink plink clack dink chink dink

9 shells fell from the revolver to the tile floor amongst the countless others shells of various caliber and cigarette butts. If this range wasn't the cheapest and least discerning about what gun you used, he would never come to this hole. The place looked as if it had never once been cleaned.

A Stocky figure staggered in front of booth carrying a tray full of thin plastic sheets with familiar silhouettes printed on them. "How many more?" Grift said in his familiar deep intonation.

"10 more." Antonio said as he pulled the gleaming shells from a fresh box loading his piece again.

Grift set the sheets down on the ledge and picked up one of the unspent rounds. "I've never seen anybody use silver bullets, well at least not at this range. I've seen every manner of round used in this alley from explosives to tracers, but you my boy are the first to use silver." Grift eyed the bullet carefully before placing it back in the box. "It must be one hell of an interesting story behind why!" He said as he walked back to his office.

Antonio loaded the sheets into the dispenser each one popping up at various heights and ranges down the lane. And with a cool exhale took aim...

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The sun was already blazing away at its punishing zenith, and the earth below him seemed to intensify the heat, damn deserts always got so fucking hot around this time of day. Beads of sweat pierced his brow as he lay in wait. There was no cover, nothing to use to hide behind or on top of just open plains full of unforgiving forsaken land. Antonio had made a small camp a half click back but was in his position. About 5 min from now the convoy would pass directly in front of him and all his suffering would pay off. Well it would pay off when he got the money for the shot, but one thing at a time.

Antonio was employing an old trick, something used for hundreds if not thousands of years. He lay in a shallow hole with a large cloth draped over him with sand piled over the top. The only part barely extending out of his den was the barrel of his rifle. After taking the shot he would simply pull the gun next to his body and wait. It was so effective a practice it still hadn't gone out of style even with all the magic and technology that existed. The real problem was of course if the convoy decided to go looking for him he could simply be crushed under the weight in his makeshift grave.

A distant hum snapped Antonio's attention away from his revere, he focused back in on the first sign post barely visible through the heat waves and saw a large black form slowly take shape just behind the yellow triangle. When the shadow covered the yellow sign he began counting and quickly panned to the next sign.

"uno dos tres cuatro"

The second sign disappeared into the shadow, he panned to the last sign and asked his rifles AI "What do you think VIRA, 15' North?"
A soft feminine voice with a Spanish accent whispered in his augmented ear "Oh mi amor, I knew the heat would get to you, its only 13' North. Ill set it for you baby."
The windage dial slowly turned back a few notches and his sight shifted to the left ever so slightly.

He peered down the barrel across a desolate landscape, the first transport flashed past, then the second. He exhaled smoothly tightening his grasp....

BANG!

He didn't have to see the window shatter or hear the screech of the breaks before he was fully concealed. He simply lay his head on the sand "Thanks VIRA, your the best."
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It had taken several hours for the convoy to finally call off the search, more then once Antonio heard vehicles pass by too close for comfort and even thought he had heard people walk past him several times. He stalked back to camp and dug up some of his supplies, he didn't dare make a fire in the early evening, he instead started to drink water and eat supplement bars.

Suddenly a rustling noise not far away sent a shock down his spine. He grabbed his rifle and with a careful gait strode forward. Just before reached the edge of the small ridge a shadow flashed past him at blinding speed and he winced in pain as his right arm was pulled up and out. Reeling from the attack he spun as he fell and grasped his bicep. The wound wasn't terribly deep but his hand was already covered in blood. He got to his knees and spun about looking for his target but all he could see was empty desert and darkness beyond.

He scooted down past the small ridge and placed his back against the warm rock. He sighted in on a sand dune a hundred feet away and all the sudden the figure popped up and ran for another position he took aim and let loose a pair of shots.

Bang. Bang.

The first clearly missed from the spray of sand, the second seemed to hit but whatever it was didn't even seem to loose pace. His target dove behind a second small sand dune, Antonio had never seen anything move so fast. He crouched and slowly moved along the stone to see if he could get a better shot. Again the beast appeared, this time charging directly for him. Antonio saw two dark red eyes wide with anger staring at him as it ran, yet it seemed to vanish briefly and reappear just as suddenly as it did.

Determined not to let it get to him he pulled the rifle close and fanned the trigger as fast as he could. A few rounds seemed to hit the black shadow and he saw tufts of fur explode off in every direction when it disappeared once. The last round landed dead center but it was upon him already clawing and ripping at his forearms and legs.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHH!

Antonio let loose a scream of pain as it bit down on the meat of left thigh, he reeled quickly and dropped the rifle to his side trying to pry the creatures jaws from his flesh. It seemed a lifetime later he finally loosened the jaws of the four legged beast and jumped back. The shadow in front of him crouched low like a tiger waiting to pounce upon its prey a long mangy tail arcing high above its body.

He snatched his rifle up and took a step back pulling the trigger he heard only a soft click no thunderous clap of a round being fired or the familiar jolt in his shoulder. He didn't need VIRA to tell him he was out of rounds. The shadow sprang forward and this time only succeeded to knock Antonio down. Although it was only as big as a medium sized dog the power and ferocity it displayed was terrifying. It stood on top of his chest snapping with fangs at his face, Antonio was holding it back with the rifle. Suddenly his adrenaline kicked in and he rolled the beast onto its back he stood over it and clubbed it over and over with the stock of his rifle. He heard it yelp again and again as he pummeled it with blows only relenting when he slipped backwards from the pool of blood that had collected at his feet.

Dazed from his fall and woozy from the blood he lost he looked back to see his defeated prey, yet it wasn't there. The ground seemed to spin as he swiveled his head looking for his adversary suddenly he saw it laying with an outstretch paw toward a hole in the ridge where he was crouching. Antonio shambled towards the body ready to bludgeon it again with the little strength he had left but saw those red eyes where staring off distantly.

Antonio slumped down attempting to collect himself and figure out what had happened, as he sat there for several long moments he became aware of more red eyes leering at him from the hole. The eyes watched him intently for what seemed an eternity and slowly two small black forms crept from the hole to the pelt sprawled out before them. They were no larger then rabbits, but were miniature versions of the larger beast. They had large deep red eyes and powerful looking bodies with a nearly black fur coating their bodies, the underside of the chests and lower legs seemed to have some scaling on them ending in treacherously sharp claws. The two pups huddled near their mother nosing at her lifeless body and whimpering.

When he left camp later that night to get some real medical aid for his wounds and inform his contact the job was complete, he heard the two pups hellish howls. Their lament upon the wind ringing in his ears, the blood curtling howl of El Chupacabra.

Assignment 2 - Animals

Was talking with Pete, and it turns out that we're due for another assignment! So I shall be your guide and host and servant and many many other things for this one.

It's simple: write a story prominently featuring an animal. It could be a pet, an escaped animal, a speaking animal; all the characters could be animals, or just some. No quests to find one, though, that's cheating.

Because here's the thing about animals, and something I'd like you all to think about: animals think fundamentally differently than we do. They act fundamentally differently than we do. Obviously there are similarities between humans and animals (and if you want to get technical we're beasts ourselves), but I'm interested in what you all have to say about the differences. Or maybe nothing at all; maybe its just our interaction with animals that is in and of itself interesting.

Addendum: if you write some Marley and Me "I love my dog" dreck I will personally hunt you down and kill you myself. :)

Tightly Wound, And Then...

Whispers grew, formed a wave, and threatened to overtake Spring Valley High with sheer force of momentum; the wave rose up because Jonathan Salzberg had come back to school. He was tall, though you wouldn't know it by the slump; he wore a turtleneck. People pointed at this and chuckled, or added their voices to the onslaught. His face was flushed red with the realization.

"Maybe," he thought, "I shouldn't have come today."

--

Classes were not interrupted; the natural herky-jerk pace of high school life continued unabated, Jonathan Salzberg or no, and the young man quickly found himself caught up in it all again. The same stupid hoops to jump through stood in quiet monument to the inefficacies of the modern education system. The only notebook he took out of his bag in any of these classes was his art book. The teachers made no comment, instead averting their eyes; the teenagers being teenagers were not so gracious.

A loud slam interrupted 7th period English; those who had been listening to Ms. Engelbart discuss the merits of Aldous Huxley spun instinctively towards the source like wolves hearing a sudden branch snap. What they saw was this: a large spiral-bound notebook of heavy paper laying on the ground next to a broken pencil; Jonathan very quickly trying to get out of his seat to pick it up; and David Jones's Puma firmly planted to prevent Jonathan from doing so. The image opposite the shoe was a drawing of two men; one on his knees with a dagger out in the traditional Harakiri pose; and behind him, a samurai, leaning on his sword like it were a cane and looking casually at his fingernails.

It wasn't the quality that hushed the room, it was the content.

Ms. Engelbart stormed to the center of the room; there was the squeaking of moving chair-desks. David stumbled back, suddenly shy, unable to make eye contact. "Mr. Jones," she said, "Do you have a problem with Jonathan?"

"No ma'am, I just think... uhm... that, even guys like him should pay attention in class, is all."

"Guys like him?"

Jonathan whispered something; nobody made any sign of having heard him. "Yeah," said David. "Emo guys. Whiny losers who can't just deal with life like the rest of us." Those nearest the altercation crowed their agreement or displeasure; here was a man standing up to a teacher! Not only that, but about Jonathan!

"It's not so easy for some people, Mr. Jones. You think about that when you're in detention."

For a second time, Jonathan whispered, this time just a little bit louder. For a second time he was ignored. "Detention? What for? I didn't do anything wrong, he's the one that --"

"DETENTION, young man. You need to think about treating others with respect -- for instance, your shoe is ruining Jonathan's drawing." Ms. Engelbart crossed her arms and stared sternly; she was unable to do more because she was a teacher, and touching students was very, very wrong. But she had to get David Jones to understand that he was harming a poor innocent young boy...

"You don't have to defend me."

Jessica spun on her heels, responding before she knew what she was doing. "Excuse me?"

"Don't. Fucking. Defend me." All the students stood still and silent. There was the sound of rustling paper, mostly as a nervous habit from one of the more educationally-minded students. Their teacher looked genuinely hurt, but Jonathan continued unabated. "Get the fuck away from me. All of you, just, just, just give me some time, okay?"

Jonathan stormed out of the room; after the door was slammed shut, David broke into nervous, forced laughter. "Wow. What a douche."

For a second time, the room was filled with the resounding sound of a crack; this time, it was Jessica Engelbart's hand against a young boy's face. Then she excused herself and left the room, leaving the students to their own devices. The talking and rumors began almost instantly.

--

The halls mid-class were mostly empty, as expected. A few people who had the period off but also had clubs were loitering around the cafeterias, but otherwise little fuss was made about the boy in tears stomping angrily past. Jonathan rubbed his eyes against his forearm and continued down. Mr. Bradley; he had to see Mr. Bradley. He had to see Mr. Bradley now.

Mr. Bradley, the school's guidance counselor, was in his office when Jonathan swung the door open. The middle-aged man remained seated and calm. He had dealt with troublemakers before. Only when he actually looked up from his work and saw Jonathan's reddened eyes and distraught face did he stop shuffling papers. "Is there--"

"There have been a lot of rumors. A lot of a lot of a lot of rumors." Jonathan collapsed in a chair and cleared his throat with a sick hacking cough.

The door was shut; Mr. Bradley returned to his desk. "Would you like to tell me about those? I don't get out much, so I don't really know..."

"Shut up," said Jonathan. "Let me talk. Just... let me do that, okay? Okay. So. Alright... I was in the hospital most of last week. I tried to kill myself. I tried to kill myself because I was in love, and you do stupid things in love, that's just how things are. I tried to kill myself because I hated the way my life was going and couldn't see a future; if you don't see a future, there isn't one. I haven't talked to anyone about it but still everyone found out that I tried it. They figured it out and I didn't even tell anyone, I had nobody to tell, because human beings are are are fucking scum. I couldn't stand it." He was sobbing now, and tugging at the collar of his turtleneck.

This was not the kind of situation that Mr. Bradley frequently had to deal with, but he adapted as best he could. "I'm sorry to hear that; I know what that feels like. I've had that kind of urge before too. It's why I became a guidance counselor, actually. But... a lot of people are good at heart. They want the best, and hope for the best; it's in the action, the translation, that things get all jumbled up, that good intentions become cruel actions. Especially amongst teenagers like yourself."

"I know. I didn't love someone like myself, though. And when she said no, I couldn't... I snapped. I guess that's what it is. I felt broken. Like someone had thrown me down the stairs." The boy was still fidgeting, adjusting and readjusting his collar; Mr. Bradley offered him some water, and Jonathan accepted. After he took a sip, he continued. "So I tried to hang myself."

"Ah. That explains the turtleneck. I thought you had just finally gotten a sense of style." Mr. Bradley chuckled; the joke did not go over so well with Jonathan. "Go on."

Jonathan stood up. "The rope broke." Then he left, leaving Mr. Bradley to contemplate in silence what that meant.

--

"Why did you come back? You still need more time, don't you?"

Jonathan was the only member of the table tennis club present; that was because tennis club was on thursdays, not tuesdays. He looked at her and shook his head. "I'm done with this. yeah... I'm not ready to deal with it."

"I could tell."

He laughed, the laughter turning to coughs, and held tight the tiny plastic ball. It was bright orange and shone like the sun between his fingers. "Sorry... what I mean is... I'm here, physically, but I can't really be here mentally. I'm still a little... shattered."

"Well, when you're ready, again, I apologize... if that's okay, maybe we could..."

"No." Jonathan was very careful to avoid looking at her; she might have started crying. "You broke it off, so now it has to stay broken. I already tried to end it, but... but it's like..." he held the ping-pong ball up to her face. Yes, she was doing a very poor job of hiding her tears. "This is empty, and vapid, and full of air. It is light and fragile. But it can take a lot of fucking force, y'know, a real lot. That's humans. We're all like that."

"Some are more fragile than others... Jonathan, I know you're upset about what happened --"

"Upset?" He slammed his paddle on the table; she jumped in surprise. "Of course I'm fucking upset! But I realized something. That noose... a fuckin' noose... it broke because sometimes things need to break. I need to leave the pieces where they are. Just let me do that, okay? Just fucking let it go; let me let go. I've got nowhere else to go but up now, right?"

She sighed. "Alright."

Breaking to Broken...

The air was thick with a grey haze, between the two of them the smoke nearly claimed the small tavern from the humidity of the forest that encroached on each side. Nearly but not quite.

"Who's turn is it anyways?...I don't remember." Antonio said as he took a deep gulp of his drink.
"You remember amigo, you just don't want to start, Ive figured out your plan, it won't work this time!"

Damian dusted the end of the pool cue and handed it over with a wide grin. Antonio finished what was left of his so called beer, the brew tasted half like Goat piss and half like root extract but it was the only thing he would drink.

SNAP...click, klack..click...thump. "I guess I'm solid."

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An alarm blaring in the base, both were already suiting up before the lights had even been turned on, one of the benefits of being a Metahuman was the enhanced vision. The large bunk room was filled with dozens of empty racks. Thin poor excuses for mattress's folded over on themselves littered each spring frame, each one a testament to candidates that had long ago washed out in training. Only the two of them remained, there training complete they had even worked on a few low level missions together. Tonight felt different...

Damian was out the door first he glanced down thumbing a small golden idol and almost certainly whispered a prayer under his breathe. He stepped away immediately to get into the briefing room. Antonio paused in the cool morning mist that lingered, absorbing a deep breathe of fog he felt his heart beat quicken as he paced to catch up.

When Antonio entered the hallway leading to the briefing room several soldiers were scrambling about racking their weapons and steeling themselves against whatever task they were just assigned. As Antonio was about to open the door to the briefing room that Damian sat in, a familiar voice beckoned to Antonio from across the hall. "Sergeant Vasquez, your in this briefing room."

Antonio turned quickly and with out a question walked past Captain Mendez, he strode past several empty rows of and took a seat in the front. As he sat the lights flashed off and a screen flickered several familiar images that accompanied the start of any mission.

Eyes Only/.../ No digital recording is allowed. Punishable under article 971 sub section 2.23.14 //

Laid out before him was a schematic of the base and the outlying jungle that surrounded it. Cpt. Mendez took a position behind his podium and began to deliver the details;

"At zero four hundred hours our security system was breached by an unknown assailant, a break occurred in the northern security grid. Evidently the intruder did this on their way out, several guards were killed using a high caliber silenced rifle and the entire northern perimeter was briefly shut down including access to all drone support." The map flashed red in several points to show where casualties were found.

"Your mission is to eliminate the intruder, we just picked up a trip line sensor about 3K due north following a dry riverbed. Intel projects target moving North/Northeast towards the shoreline. Intercept and Terminate. Questions?"

With a snap Antonio stood, glancing at the screen with the dotted line that followed his targets path and grinned.

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The day was beginning to heat up quickly, the mist was starting to evaporate but before it could break through the forest canopy it was peeled back in to create the humidity that was so persistant. Antonio had been dropped in from low altitude to make up the distance his target had gained. He knew this forest well and to get past him his target only had a few options. He glanced behind him at the rocky outcropping towards the base of the mountain to the east. "That will do nicely."

He settled into his trap and readied his rifle, taking measured precise actions he had rehearsed hundreds of times before to make sure everything was perfect. This was no rehearsal, not this time. Antonio firmly grasped the rifle grip and his eyes reeled to compensate for the augmented reality he looked through. Looking down the sight mostly out of instinct even though his eyes were now showing him an advanced zoom from the rifles point of view. He checked the ammo counter and range finder in the corner of his vision although he already knew the answers, it was just habit by now. And so he lay in wait for his prey, concealed between boulders and shrouded in shadow and liche moss.

First a half hour had passed, then a full hour, Antonio wondered if he had missed his target...perhaps he had already passed by or gone to ground? The question nagged at him, slowly he searched the riverbed, no tracks, nothing!
He slowly began to scan the canopy and his surroundings suddenly to his left he saw it, the smallest of glints from the sun just at the base of a fallen tree covered with overgrowth.
Antonio rolled his rifle to the left with lightning speed and just as his vision focused in he saw the black of the barrel point shift to his eye. He had been spotted just then too. His finger twitched instinctively and a serenade of slow motion began. He felt the faithful jolt in his shoulder as the weapons spat forth a lethal round...

BANG.

He watched the projectile soar through the air like a bird of prey diving onto a field mouse, suddenly he saw a horrifying sight. A burst of light that happened only a millisecond before a spray of blood. Their was nothing he could do, as fast as he was Antonio couldn't dodge the bullet that hurtling back towards him.

CRACK! Snap...

Antonio rolled back into the foliage grasping the side of his head. He lay on his back staring up into the sky that was quickly becoming a fuzzy grey tone and thumbed his commlink, shouting past the high pitched ringing he heard. "Target down, requesting immediate medic...."

Everything turned black except for a single pinpoint of white, in his mind he reached out and stretched it only to see the image of the intruder he shot. Pushing himself not to lose consciousness he stared for a long moment and all the sudden something caught his eye. The glint in the shadows, he looked closer, is that gold?...

first assignment - breaks

Write a piece that somehow incorporates breaks of some kind. Time off, things being broken, ended, or rendered non-functional, waves splitting apart, tough times... all are valid. Ready, go.