The Signature

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: War and Military  |  House: Booksie Classic
first bit of writing

Submitted: January 26, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 26, 2013




Welcome Home

The sun is a fiery orb that sheds light upon the world.When it descends on the dawn of night, it’s not so bright. As the moon appears, the speckles of light shimmer through the trees and bounce off the water of the river. A lone man wanders by the edge of the river. He gets down on his knees to drink, then lifting his head up hearsthe clapping of thunder. He does not hear the thunder, more the echoes of gunfire and children screaming. He stares at the water for what seems to be an age. The man wakes up.

Breathing very heavily, he turns to the other side of the bed hoping to feel the warm presence of his wife; but sadly disappointed. The man sits up from the bed and rubs his eyes. He then walks to the bathroom, washing his face with the coldest of water. He lifts his head to the mirror, only to see a broken man, bloodshot eyes, scars and cuts. When he leaves the bathroom, the floor he walked upon creaked. The man flinches quite violently at this point, as he travels shortly, to where his son slept, only to see an empty crib surrounded by the toys and stuffed animals that he played with while he was gone. Tears begin to run down the man’s face and a big groan comes from his mouth.

He could always remember the humidity of the jungle, a warm vibrant place, full of life. Swaying branches and the howling of monkeys filled the ears of the soldiers moving through the trees, unaware of the danger they were about to encounter. The man wiped the sweat from his brow, his pulse was racing due to being constantly alert and thinking every moment could be his last. As he continued to walk through the brush, he heard a click.He froze and slowly tilted his head down, only to discover a hidden trap. The man,trembling, stared with blank eyes at the trap. A fellow soldier turned to see the man and realised in his eyes the fear which had embraced him. At this moment, silence ensnared the forest. The soldier moved cautiously through the trees to where the man was standing, looking in every direction, making sure the coast was clear. The wind sung through the gaps of the trees, creating an eerie melody. As the soldier got close to the man, a crack came from the nearby ridge. A bullet ripped through the soldier’s neck, a short burst of blood sprayed onto the man’s face. The soldier dropped to the floor and lay twitching, deep in the undergrowth. A lone gunman appeared through the vegetation of the jungle, stroking the rifle which had just ended the soldier’s life. The gunman showed no emotion, there were scars all down the gunman’s face and his eyes as dark as night. He morphed silently, merging with the jungle and disappeared for a short while. The jungle regained its original feel and atmosphere, the man’s breathing slowed and a calming breeze hit his face as if assuring him that everything was fine. The breeze stopped soon after and a crack came from behind the man. The sound was pulsating though his head getting loader and loader, soon the man began to lose conciseness and blacked out.

He opened his bloodshot eyes to realise he was still in his son’s room. The man exited his son’s room swiftly, starting to walk down the stairs of the house to where the front room was located. There was a blank oak table in the middle of the room with two old oak stools around it. The gun cabinet was to the right side of the table stocked with a loaded Colt M1911 and a case of whisky. The man walked to the cabinet stroking his chin, he picks up the gun and checks it over and over then places it on the oak table. He looked at the case of whisky and the whisky looked back at him. He grabbed a nearby glass and poured the brown liquid in it then hovering his nose over the glass, smells the strong aroma of the drink. He swallows the whole glassful in one and pours another one before walking to the oak table, where the gun placed. The man sat on the stool and picked up the gun, aiming it and looking down the sights. The air became cold in the house. The man started to shiver, the Goosebumps flared up on the man’s body. With this coldness came a figure which sat on the other stool in the front room. A shade, as black as night and as empty as the void. It was heavy on the man’s presence, as the man focused he sore it more clearly. It was the lone gunman sitting on the other side of him, staring through him with eyes of red. The man tried to fire his gun at the gunman but something was holding him back from pulling the trigger. Instead placed the barrel of the gun in his mouth, he could taste the bitter gunpowder on his tongue. The room fell silent for a moment. The dripping of water from the bathroom tap was the only sound that was heard, until the man pulled the trigger. He fell backwards off the stool and hit the floor. His blood sprayed all on the table and floor was the signature to his final thought. The man was at peace.

© Copyright 2019 Jordan Hughes. All rights reserved.

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