Short Stories

Short Story #2

(This story is told from the perspective of a soldier in his early twenties.)

If you're hanging from a 540-foot-tall watchtower that's about to fall over, and there's a very enthusiastic tank whose driver wants the tower to fall over, and the building all your friends are in is burning, and everything is blowing up, it's reasonable to say that your day sucks. 

Let's start at the beginning of today.

 "Wake up, you sacks of lard!" Sergeant Anderssen bellowed. "Long day of training today! Get up!" The only response was some groaning and mumbling. He squeezed his air horn, and a loud honk shattered the stillness of the morning. That got everyone moving. I groaned. I would love nothing more than to get just maybe 10 more minutes of sleep, but nooooo. Up, up, up, no sleeping in. The fact that we were woken up at 5:00 AM ("0500 hours") sharp didn't help with my mood. I scrambled out of my steel cot, kicking off the sheet of paper we were supposed to call a blanket. I stumbled toward the door, blinking in the darkness, and nearly ran over my best friend, Jaxson. He blinked and smiled sleepily. "Oh, hi.", he mumbled. "Breakfast?" I yawned widely. "Sure." 

• • •

 After watery oatmeal and rock-hard biscuits for breakfast, we had our morning run. I didn't see the point of running 30 laps around the outside of our base other than basically freezing our butts off and making the climb up to my watch post later much more painful. To make matters worse, of the newcomers threw up all over part of the path, and Anderssen yelled at all of us, as if we had cast a magic spell to make him barf. The poor guy who threw up had to clean it up, and then do 150 push-ups, and run 5 extra laps. He was panting so hard, it was a wonder that he wasn't losing more oxygen to the air than gaining. 

Afterward, I limped over to the watchtower I was assigned to, and began the climb to my platform 540 feet above. The first day I had been assigned to the watchtower, I had protested wildly at the fact that I was required to climb so many flights of stairs for my job. I protested a little less when Sergeant Anderssen painted his face solid black and chased me up the stairs with an airsoft gun, screaming like a maniac the whole way. 

The rusty old stairs creaked as my foot pressed down onto each one. Finally, I reached a trapdoor, and pushed it open, ignoring the horrendous squeal its hinges made. Quietly sighing, I leaned against the railing and peered down at the small figures training below. My shift was from 7:30 AM to 6:00 PM, and most of my days were really boring. 

The only thing that kept me sane was the fact that I could privately radio Jaxson, and we could talk all day. I messed with the controls on my radio, and a brief burst of static came over. "Jaxson?", I asked. There was a small crackle, then Jaxson replied. "Yeah?" "Why do we have to do these boring jobs?" I heard him sigh. "I have no idea. I think the biscuits are made of rocks." Although it seemed like casual conversation, these first few words were strictly security, to make sure no one found out about us privately radioing each other. We talked for a little bit, then I went back to staring into the distance, waiting for an attack that would never come. I entertained myself with the small spool of twine that sat along the other emergency supplies. They had given me enough to make a parachute if I needed to jump, but they never told me how to make it. It wasn't really like I needed it anyway. Personally, I thought it was kinda ridiculous .Why would I jump? There are stairs for a reason. 

• • •

 The day passed uneventful, as usual. Lunch was a turkey sandwich with rock-biscuits. I spent most of the day sleeping on the tarp that was neatly folded in a corner. For the short time that I was awake, I watched everyone below training. The number of new recruits had swelled in the past few years. This was due to the fact that the world had split in half (not literally, although it might as well have), and the US had instituted the Triple Draft. This meant three out of four people who were 18 or older were forcibly drafted into the army. Lucky me, I was in those three. I still remember that day when the army had come to my town... 

I had turned 18 just yesterday, and I had celebrated with all my friends and family. There was a huge chocolate cake with "Happy 18th Birthday!!" written on it in... cursive, maybe? The party had went on for hours and hours. There was a DJ there, playing all my favorite songs. I had gleefully opened all my presents from everyone I knew, finding one cool thing after another. The party had dragged on for hours and hours. The last few people to leave were my friend Jaxson, Quinn, a friend from school, and Jaxson's parents. The next day, there was an announcement that the army was coming, and had something important to say. We were told to gather in the park. There had been a soldier who had stepped up to the podium on the stage and announced the Triple Draft. That three out of four of us would be drafted into the army. I still remember the moment that they had read my name off the list. I had cried for the rest of the day and shut myself in my room. I had thrown things, yelled, swore, and cried some more. I was a mess. Nevertheless, a week later, I was shipped off with tearful goodbyes and long hugs and promises of returning. 

A/N: 1004 words... not too long, I guess. Part 2 comes tomorrow! I feel like this is my old writing style and it really sucks. I also feel like I write too much about guns and fire and things blowing up (you'll see).
To the two or three other people who maybe read my first short story, I am sorry for making you read such horrible stuff.
Don't worry. You've read worse if you've gotten to here.