Post by Deleted on Jun 2, 2014 9:17:09 GMT -8
It was hot; almost unbearably so.
Then again, it was always hot, except when it was bitterly cold. That was the only real way to determine whether it was day or night, and even that was still somewhat hit or miss, as it seemed hot far more often than it seemed cold.
As best as could be determined in the crushing blackness, it was day. Probably sometime around noon, when the desert star was at it's highest. Water was at a premium, and each droplet of sweat that drifted down from betwixt shoulders down to buttocks was a waste.
It wouldn't be long now.
A body taxed by crash landing was becoming closer and closer to the brink of no return. Through counting cold spells, it seemed as though a month or more had passed. How many meals had been eaten in that time? Less than thirty, it felt. Water had been a more frequent commodity, but even then, it seemed like less than a once-per-day indulgence.
There had been someone else in the room once— if it could be considered a room, as it was the deepest hole in a hastily constructed cave— but whoever it had been had ceased their breathing what seemed like an hour prior.
The discussions had happened around the same time: what was to be done about the departed? Energy was at a premium too, and burying a corpse in the heat of the day was an extravagant task. What, then, about night? Their chances of being seen were lower then, but the chill was biting, and they could not afford to burn a fire.
Did the departed deserve a proper funeral? What soul he'd once contained was long gone, chased out by the haunting screams of fevered delusions. Now, there was nothing left but the empty shell of the Major he'd once been. An empty shell, someone had noted, still had usefulness.
Empty bellies and desperate situations lead to desperate measures.
Still, despite their need to survive, despite their hopes that if they could just stay alive a bit longer that a search team would locate them, there was hesitation. There was still a sense of nobility, born only of the obligation they would have to the Major’s family when they returned to from whence they’d come.
Perhaps they could draw lots. Leave fate in charge. But to a people who took pride in making their own fate, leaving it up to fortune seemed unthinkable.
After all, misfortune was what got them in their present predicament.
“What about that one?” someone had asked, gesturing to the form curled up haphazardly in the corner in an attempt to accommodate a badly fractured pelvis.
The one whom was spoken of, shook a head weakly. “No,” the protestation was made. A month of pain, suffering worse than torture, and starvation was not enough to compromise on one’s principles; besides, death was looking more attractive by the moment. “Why waste food on me at any rate? I am worthless to you.”
“You are worth more alive than dead,” the voice countered.
No argument was made in return. There was a sound of dragging, then a silence blissful after interminable days of frenzied screams. In the silence, it was almost possible for the exhaustion to overpower the pain.
Sleep’s blessed release must have eventually came, as the next moment of clarity was when being shaken to alertness. The smell of cooked meat caused salivation until the shock of what that inferred caused a cold feeling of horror to spread.
Before a cry of protest could be made, a hand clamped over the officer’s mouth. “You will eat, or you will be tortured until you do so.” A boot to the side of the hip was a far-from-subtle reminder of their willingness to cause pain. “Do you understand?”
“Yes!” the cry came, as tears flooded eyes unaccustomed to the phenomenon.
“I’m glad we’ve come to an agreement. Come now, let us get underway. You’ll only have your first bite once, so the sooner it’s out of the way, the sooner you’ll get over it.
Closed
Then again, it was always hot, except when it was bitterly cold. That was the only real way to determine whether it was day or night, and even that was still somewhat hit or miss, as it seemed hot far more often than it seemed cold.
As best as could be determined in the crushing blackness, it was day. Probably sometime around noon, when the desert star was at it's highest. Water was at a premium, and each droplet of sweat that drifted down from betwixt shoulders down to buttocks was a waste.
It wouldn't be long now.
A body taxed by crash landing was becoming closer and closer to the brink of no return. Through counting cold spells, it seemed as though a month or more had passed. How many meals had been eaten in that time? Less than thirty, it felt. Water had been a more frequent commodity, but even then, it seemed like less than a once-per-day indulgence.
There had been someone else in the room once— if it could be considered a room, as it was the deepest hole in a hastily constructed cave— but whoever it had been had ceased their breathing what seemed like an hour prior.
The discussions had happened around the same time: what was to be done about the departed? Energy was at a premium too, and burying a corpse in the heat of the day was an extravagant task. What, then, about night? Their chances of being seen were lower then, but the chill was biting, and they could not afford to burn a fire.
Did the departed deserve a proper funeral? What soul he'd once contained was long gone, chased out by the haunting screams of fevered delusions. Now, there was nothing left but the empty shell of the Major he'd once been. An empty shell, someone had noted, still had usefulness.
Empty bellies and desperate situations lead to desperate measures.
Still, despite their need to survive, despite their hopes that if they could just stay alive a bit longer that a search team would locate them, there was hesitation. There was still a sense of nobility, born only of the obligation they would have to the Major’s family when they returned to from whence they’d come.
Perhaps they could draw lots. Leave fate in charge. But to a people who took pride in making their own fate, leaving it up to fortune seemed unthinkable.
After all, misfortune was what got them in their present predicament.
“What about that one?” someone had asked, gesturing to the form curled up haphazardly in the corner in an attempt to accommodate a badly fractured pelvis.
The one whom was spoken of, shook a head weakly. “No,” the protestation was made. A month of pain, suffering worse than torture, and starvation was not enough to compromise on one’s principles; besides, death was looking more attractive by the moment. “Why waste food on me at any rate? I am worthless to you.”
“You are worth more alive than dead,” the voice countered.
No argument was made in return. There was a sound of dragging, then a silence blissful after interminable days of frenzied screams. In the silence, it was almost possible for the exhaustion to overpower the pain.
Sleep’s blessed release must have eventually came, as the next moment of clarity was when being shaken to alertness. The smell of cooked meat caused salivation until the shock of what that inferred caused a cold feeling of horror to spread.
Before a cry of protest could be made, a hand clamped over the officer’s mouth. “You will eat, or you will be tortured until you do so.” A boot to the side of the hip was a far-from-subtle reminder of their willingness to cause pain. “Do you understand?”
“Yes!” the cry came, as tears flooded eyes unaccustomed to the phenomenon.
“I’m glad we’ve come to an agreement. Come now, let us get underway. You’ll only have your first bite once, so the sooner it’s out of the way, the sooner you’ll get over it.
Closed