Into The Rift

The Few, And Desperate (47)

-2132 Military Hours, 5th May

It was quiet, except for the wind's slight rustling. In the midst of this solemn occasion, I find myself staring at the haunting visage of a tombstone. Grey and cracked, its deteriorated surface holds little uniformity upon closer inspection. The numerous little crevices, an unavoidable consequence from years of exposure to the elements.

Still, the inert piece of stone meant a lot. Its sentimental value remains the same to me, to the both of us. It was hard to forget the man who raised us, but harder still to accept things as they are. Even now, years down the road.

I raise a hand to wipe away the few offending tears obstructing my vision, reserving the other to comfort the quivering shoulder of my sister. Catherine settles over the tombstone, kneeling with her bangs masking her expression from me.

Ragged sniffles broke through her lips as Catherine places the small compliment of white flowers on our behalf, tracing her fingers lovingly over the letters carved onto the granite template.

'Andrew M. Simmons'

The name looms over my thoughts like a tarp, further trapping the sadness already present around me. The grief never lost its edge, not when it concerns him.

"We're here, Dad," Catherine begins meekly, wiping away coarse dirt from the tombstone. "Mom's on a double shift, so its only me and Jerome this year."

Remaining tight lipped, I kneel down beside Catherine, offering my sister a concerned look as she spirals into a troubled sob. Her soft wails continue for several minutes, showing no immediate signs of ending.

Breaking out of this silent demeanor, I turn to the final resting place of our Dad, issuing our heartfelt congratulations. "H-happy... birthday, Dad." I remark, the words sounding hollowed even with my best intentions.

There was no reply, and the tombstone remains silent. As I heave out a defeated sigh, a warm hand creeps up to my thighs.

Catherine gathers her composure, wiping the last of her tears. She exhales, facing me with an unusually attentive look.

"Promise me you won't end up like Dad. I know, it's too late to change your mind about the Marines. But please, take care of yourself," she pleads, her glistening eyes staring deeply into mine as she awaits a response.

"I will, you can count on that," I affirm. For Catherine, I will try to make that a certainty, she deserves that much at the very least. "You deserve this much from me." I say, vocalizing my internal monologue for her benefit.

She hums quietly, her lips gaining a slight inclination. "I'll still worry about you, nothing can change that. Even now."

A cold flush of air dips overhead as Catherine stares at me, her demeanor growing increasingly suspicious as she moves her hand up to my left cheek.

"Please be safe," she remarks, echoing the words methodically with increasing intensity. The hint of a frown on her lips never left, even as the environment breaks up into an indiscernible blur.

"Please be safe," Catherine repeats one last time hugging me tightly, allowing something else to fill the ambience, something familiar even if it was just a dull rumble. The constant drone of something blankets the surroundings as I look around, jolting up with my thoughts in partial disarray.

The metallic, dimly lit red hue of an aircraft's interior ferries me back to the present situation. My heartrate stammers briefly in the ongoing silence as the initial bouts of confusion dissipates over the next few seconds. The events over the past few hours run through my head, the mental scenery drifting by in mere seconds, the details coherent like a neatly formatted slideshow.