The Bad Batch: Oneshots

Just Like Old Times

All credit to my friend Isla (author of Aftermath). This is her story and her words. She's no longer on this app/site, but wanted the story out so she let me put it here. Enjoy!

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     When the sunlight hit the ridges of the mountain properly, it would turn into a painting of old times, of the foggy stars that sat on the atmosphere for twelve hours of the day. It was a beautiful planet, enlivened with peace, hope, and tranquility. It was a place that had been there since the beginning of time, when a mythological creature pressed its lips against the surface of the water and whispered its enchantments into the abyss of the water, and asked it to give a new life to old chaos. It was the paradise that would appear in dreams of fairy tales, and their dreams had come true.

They were awake now.

Though some of the dreams were lost in the process of their dreams, they are awake now.

Though they had suffered loss and guilt, they were awake now.

The wind rustled against the trees, making the dead leaves fall beside them delicately, like a feather. It was a lost garden of time, watched over by angels who sat on the clouds of heaven. It was a constellation carved into the sea, protected by the shadow of angel wings. It was a masterpiece of art created from the ashes of grief and loss where they could breathe eternity into their lungs.

The sands of Pabu were free of the confinement of time, of an hourglass where the sand ticked slowly for the miserable and quickly for the oblivious, sitting on the corner of the tile of a credenza, collecting dust as it was forgotten by its marionette controller. Each grain of sand equated to a memory, some being buried beneath more important ones, the bad memories being washed out by the tide. The important and kind memories lay on top, creating the surface of the land Pabu was built upon, a strong foundation for their home.

The sands directly underneath them were their fondest memories, giving them life. As they helped out on the beaches with various different tasks, they felt as though they were reaching out in the ocean for their old life, giving their energy to something bigger than themselves. Granted, it was in a different way. Though their life was peaceful and safe now, they still felt the need to help out, in whatever way they could. That way just changed from putting their lives on the line, to fishing.

There was no medicine quite like the salted waves when all you know is glass shards of shattered bottles and splintered woods. When all you're used to is imperfections, it's difficult to accept the perfect. But when it's given to you slowly, one bit at a time, like a grain of salt hitting a crack on your lip from the sea, it nurses you back to health. Now, the tide flowed through their blue veins, their hearts and minds anchored to the ocean floor. The waves didn't represent sadness to them. It didn't represent centuries of weeping or the amount of tears cried when someone lost someone they cared for dearly. But finally, as they were reaching for the light, it reached back.

"Look, Hunter," Wrecker yelled, trying to get the sergeant's attention. "I caught another fish!"

"Congratulations," Hunter replied, rolling his eyes playfully. "Put it on the other side of the boat where the rest of the fish are."

Wrecker nodded, letting out a small grunt as he grabbed the other end of the large fish, carrying it horizontally to the opposite side of the fishing boat. He dropped it on top of the pile of around fifteen other large fish; it bounced slightly on impact.

"I think that's a good amount of fish for now," Hunter told Wrecker. "We better get back to the docks and pull the ship to shore before it topples over due to an imbalance of weight."