The brimming child grinned like a fool as he held the blue first place archery ribbon. Gaz, the rusty brown haired boy with dark green eyes was that same child, in the newspaper two days later. Richard Bodenhien, Gaz's Father smiled, "I'm proud of you kiddo, real proud!" he exclaimed. Rushing off to his high rise office building. Far from Gaz, Just like their father to son relationship, far away.
Like the sun from the moon,
The shaking gloved hand lifted the pale blue pill to his mouth. Gaz took a short deep breath and swallowed. This target was much harder and alive, like another mammal on the planet. The brownish grey to black stubble peppered Gaz's chin, 'crows-feet' like wrinkles stretched from the bridge of his nose to the mid length of his green eyes. The Brown desert camouflage uniform covered his middle aged body. Lifting the heavy sniper rifle so he could look out the scope, Gaz scanned for his target. Three men looking to sell nuclear arms to five other Arabs. Constantly keeping check on the cars antenna, the flag stopped flickering, so the wind had died.
As the young man walked to his car with his duffel bags. Lindsay Bodenhien, Gaz's Mother teared up, nervously biting her lip. After a final good-bye plus alot of embarrassing kisses he climbed into the drivers side of his BMW.
Richard jogged up to the car, his eyes old and softened with respect, and a distant fear. His mouth opened slightly, but closed. Richard nodded softly to his son and slapped the roof of the car and backed away slowly.
Have you ever heard a tree fall? That noise was the only thing you could have heard for minutes/ Gaz dropped the over sized rifle. A grey streak of smoke traced a line from Gaz's shot to the nearly headless man. Even from the bottom of the large, very tall office building, shouts could be heard from the pursuing terrorists. Though it seemed random, Gas had planned a route to escape with and at the end awaited a helicopter. Jumping over fallen trashcans and weaving between rubble and wreaked cars Gaz lept and sprinted down and away.
Shots rang out piercing the tense air, only broken by Arabic shouts and short gasps for air.
One gasp, sharp and followed with a moan of disbelief, escaped Gaz's chapped lips.
At first it was a simple sting, then a slight burning sensation in his bicep. Doing what he was trained to do, he ran. Finding an half open garage door, Gaz ducked down into the car-port. Taking slow deep breaths he closed his eyes in disbelief, he was shot! Shouting erupted, he heard the men clearly, the were closing in...
The older man, a proud father to a brave Canadian, soldier. Once again in a futile attempt to remind his son after so many years. Richard shouted, "You'd better come back ya 'ear?! I love you kiddo!"
The men would find him soon, and torture him for everything he had. Gaz would rather, well, rather die. Taking another deep and very slow breath he brought a handgun to his temple.
A single tear rolled down Gaz's cheek.
Like the sun from the moon, Gaz and his father would one day meet again...
- Title: Come back again.
- Artist: Skwizgar Gibson
This was supposed to be, will be, my short story for English class. Im supposed to portray that 'The toughest of life's struggles are within ourselves.'
Yes I did take and edit ideas form 'Call of Duty 4: Modern Warefare'
- Date: 05/15/2009
- Tags: come back again
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