***
After an hour or two of dreamless sleep, Baines opened his eyes. He looked around to find that all of his mates had fallen asleep. He looked down at the package in his arms, the wrapping may as well have been taunting him to open it. But he dared not. Two voices began fencing in his head.
“Who’s to know?” asked one. “You deserve to see what yer mum got you, after all you’ve been through.”
“No, no,” said the other. “Your mother would be disappointed if you gave in now. Be patient.”
“Patient, shmatient. You nearly got hit by flak, for Christ’s sake. You deserve to see what’s in there. C’mon then, no one’s lookin’.”
“No one but God, that is.”
“Bah! What’s he know? He almost let you die out there-“
“But he didn’t. Patience is a virtue-“
“So’s the will to act. Act now, get it over with!”
“You’re gonna regret it at some point.”
“You’re in the flippin’ army, you ain’t gonna regret opening a box.”
“That has nothin’ to do with it.”
“It has everythin’ to do.”
“How?”
“’Cause you’re a bloody war hero, dammit, you deserve it.”
“Not that badly.”
“Alright,” Baines exclaimed, “That’s enough.” The others fell silent. “I’m not opening it. The two of you, just shut up about it. I’ll sleep, and open it first thing in the mornin’, how’s that?”
“Agreed”
“Hmph… Agreed.”
“Good,” Baines said.
He sighed, and closed his eyes. He yawned, and drifted off to sleep.
***
At first light, Baines opened his eyes. He looked around to see the rest of the men start to sit up from their bunks. The man who taunted him, a corporal, spoke up, “Alright, Baines, what’s in the box?”
Baines sat up and glared at him. “And just why should I show it to you?”
The man sighed. “Okay, okay… I’m sorry for mocking you. It was wrong.”
“That it was.” Baines unwrapped the paper, revealing a box covered in bright colors. He opened the top. “My mum’s miner cakes… She made a baker’s dozen of ‘em.” The little cakes were golden, full of raisins and coated in caster sugar. “Just as I remember.” He looked up to his unit. “So, who wants one?” The men got up from their bunks and gathered around to get their own taste of home.
Their True Colors
He wore a blood-red coat.
He walked on the concrete. Every footstep tapped. The cream-colored walls faded with mold and mildew, and the air reeked of it. Three wooden doors stood on either side of the hall. To his left, he heard five clicks from behind a door. In front of him was a shattered glass window. The city’s skyline could be seen as dark silhouettes with amber-colored patterns. In the sky, few stars could be seen, blocked by the city’s light pollution.
Aside from his coat, the man had dark trousers and black combat boots. His face was pale and contrasted with his five o’clock shadow. He also had a dark fedora, under which his wiry black hair was twisted and curled. His eyes, blue as ocean water, betrayed no emotion. His worn black gloves held on to the black grip of a Luger.
Behind him were the footsteps of another. He turned to look at his opponent. The older man was of a darker olive complexion, though his hair was fully white, straight and slicked, and his face was clean-shaven. His sad hazel eyes showed disappointment. He wore a green suit and bow tie, and his dress pants and fedora were light gray. His black gloves, brand new, held on to the silvery grip of a Colt.
The man in the blood-red coat turned and held up his hand, aiming the Luger at the old man in the green suit. The man in the green suit was slower, but the blood-red held firm, and so he allowed the old man a chance to aim his Colt. The constant ticking of an unseen clock was heard. Seconds passed. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick… Tock… Tick… Tock… BONG! BONG!
BANG!
BANG!
Both men fell to the floor. The man in the blood-red coat did not bleed. The man in the green suit had a stain over his heart. Neither one’s eyes betrayed emotion now.
One now wore a cloud-white robe.
The other wore a blood-red coat.
###
About the Author:
Patrick Kain is a university student and an aspiring novelist. While he mostly writes Science Fiction and Fantasy in his spare time, the stories presented in this ebook are among the more realistic of his works of fiction. He hopes that his work will one day be adapted into other mediums such as video games or movies, but at the moment is simply satisfied with putting his thoughts and ideas to paper. He appreciates feedback and critique of his literary work.
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Borne of Personal Strife Page 2
