Cold Carbon
"Checkmate" Claude Duchamp
It had taken the crew somewhat longer to finish cleaning up. The scrimmage had caused more
damage than usual. It would take a few more hours to remove the stains off the carpet. She would write the damage report to Veronica after the cigarette.
The crisp air felt refreshing against her face. She tossed her toothpick carelessly on the ground. There were more where those came from. Right now, she needed the reassurance of that focused inhale and exhale.
Something weighed heavy on her mind. She felt slightly guilty for slapping Sonya. She was a good kid but how could she be so careless? So irresponsible… We pay for our recklessness. We pay for not understanding the rules of the game.
Her time in French army taught her that lesson very well. Those in power will use it,
regardless of its nature. It could be someone of a higher rank, it could be someone stronger than you. Even the disposable ones, who shared her fears, misery and despair in red painted sands of a foreign land… even they weren’t an exception to the rule. She thought they were brothers… brothers in arms and brothers in death…
So naive.
Her cold metal tags pressing into her chest, a rough hand over her mouth, a pungent smell of stale sweat, a deep sense of shame…
So naive of her…
She solemnly puffed the smoke into a night sky. You could barely see the stars. There the sky was pitch black and stars were glowing with detached indignation at what was happening behind the shattered barracks, in the red stained sand.
What do you do? Resent? It’s of no use…
She was not the same person as then…
Her bunk mate had introduced her to chess. Much like life, every figure had their role. Predicting one’s move became easier once she understood the rules of the game. In reality, humans were very simple… predictable… stereotypical…
He’s dead now. His bones covered in the relentless never-ending sand. Just sand, all around them. Sand and the gleaming sun…
She put out whatever was left of her cigarette with her boot. Another toothpick returned to its
rightful place. The dry taste of wood would take her back there every time. It was a reminder… of fleetingness of human life. And unfaltering beauty of human soul.
She would have to speak with Sonya soon. Buy her a drink. Teach her how to play chess.
"Checkmate" Claude Duchamp
It had taken the crew somewhat longer to finish cleaning up. The scrimmage had caused more
damage than usual. It would take a few more hours to remove the stains off the carpet. She would write the damage report to Veronica after the cigarette.
The crisp air felt refreshing against her face. She tossed her toothpick carelessly on the ground. There were more where those came from. Right now, she needed the reassurance of that focused inhale and exhale.
Something weighed heavy on her mind. She felt slightly guilty for slapping Sonya. She was a good kid but how could she be so careless? So irresponsible… We pay for our recklessness. We pay for not understanding the rules of the game.
Her time in French army taught her that lesson very well. Those in power will use it,
regardless of its nature. It could be someone of a higher rank, it could be someone stronger than you. Even the disposable ones, who shared her fears, misery and despair in red painted sands of a foreign land… even they weren’t an exception to the rule. She thought they were brothers… brothers in arms and brothers in death…
So naive.
Her cold metal tags pressing into her chest, a rough hand over her mouth, a pungent smell of stale sweat, a deep sense of shame…
So naive of her…
She solemnly puffed the smoke into a night sky. You could barely see the stars. There the sky was pitch black and stars were glowing with detached indignation at what was happening behind the shattered barracks, in the red stained sand.
What do you do? Resent? It’s of no use…
She was not the same person as then…
Her bunk mate had introduced her to chess. Much like life, every figure had their role. Predicting one’s move became easier once she understood the rules of the game. In reality, humans were very simple… predictable… stereotypical…
He’s dead now. His bones covered in the relentless never-ending sand. Just sand, all around them. Sand and the gleaming sun…
She put out whatever was left of her cigarette with her boot. Another toothpick returned to its
rightful place. The dry taste of wood would take her back there every time. It was a reminder… of fleetingness of human life. And unfaltering beauty of human soul.
She would have to speak with Sonya soon. Buy her a drink. Teach her how to play chess.