"Almost Green"

Intermission

Lazy sunshine played catch by the plaza. Rays chased rays, and the laughter of children boomed about. Rings of lights, a key of neon frisbee throws, caught up to the mounds of unkempt hair beneath. Footsteps chimed. Bells rang in the distance. School was out.

Churches welcomed the masses. The Bloat bloomed in every crevice. Fields of white spread their wings in an all-encompassing embrace. A loving embrace. A loving hug. The marble hugged its inhabitants, for the marble loved them all dearly. Far beneath, computer amalgamations vomited rivers of code, aimed clear at their light. "THE" light. The Law. The light that guided.

Light that guided? I'll tell you about a guiding light. For real, gonna blow your socks off with this one. Nah, naaah, nah, don't give me that look. Don't give me that look, you sog! It's true. This is a certified, confirmed and wring-your-brains-out breathtaking war tale. A war tale, yeah. ... Mmm. Yeah, I know. But this one's actually true. Yeah? Well, you wanna hear it? Or not? I can just up and leave. Yeah, leave your ass here to rot. Nah? Settle in, then.

... You sog.

So get this. Get this. An old friend of mine, right? I still know him, it's not like he's dead, but–... Oh, shut up. He got stranded in that hellhole, Kazdel. Yeah, there. Peacekeeping, it was. Remember that looney who set his pants on fire in front of the big Hall? Yeah, that sorta peacekeeping.

Anyway, get this. He got stranded in that hellhole, and his squad got ripped to shreds by a buncha devils. I can say devil, it's not a slur. No, it's a general term. Will you just shut up? Yeah. His squad got ripped to tiny little tid-bits, and he was the only survivor. It was somewhere up north, with the mountains, and the snow, and hypothermia, and missing limbs from frostbite. Eventually, some devils had found him and moved him to a bigger town. They didn't make the trip, though. Only he did.

He was amazed by the state of the country, actually. The fact that it was truly like we were told. Kill or be killed, that kinda, uh... that kinda wham. Guy got totally indoctrinated into the whole devil-killing biz. Yeah, no, he didn't try to return home. Why? Hell if I know. Apparently celebrated each birthday in some muddy hole with one finger on the trigger, another on an ori-burner serving as a candle. Touchy subject. Anyway, at some point, word was that the war had almost been over, so I guess he decided to ditch and finally move his ass somewhere a little warmer. Somehow, someway, guy got out and moved. Where? I dunno. Siracusa? Kazimierz? Leithanien, maybe? I know them Leithanians really hate anything that's Sarkaz, maybe they got him a visa just because of his kill count. Would be pretty in character, no?

No?

The point? What point? There's no point, I'm just telling a story. Here, in Laterano, everyone was convinced he'd died. Even threw him a funeral. A small one, though. Not many people actually showed up, y'know? Some general reception afterwards, and that's that. Yup. End of story. How'd he end up? Dunno.

As I said, end of story, as far as I'm concerned. Just that.

All that, for an end to his story.

A dull finishing act. No catharsis of any sorts. A plain bowl of rice for dinner, right before bed.

As plain as unflavored yogurt. Just a cup of tasteless sludge. The least bit of flavor came from the sensation of its cold surface scraping his tongue. Scrape hard enough, he'd draw blood. Blood would at least add a metallic aftertaste. Like biting a bullet, figuratively and literally. Blood would add color. Blood would cut the mundane cycle. Blood couldn't still in his veins. Curdling, it kept bubbling and brewing. Ringing, too. Growling for attention, begging for a spill. Asking for it, at this point.