Space: an incalculable three dimensional realm.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
Graves had done everything he was told. He had jumped through the hoops, paid attention to the details, passed the tests. By the time selection had come around, he was surprised to have beaten the competition, to have proven himself. At least externally. Internally he knew that they were fuckers, that he was better. And yet, despite his confidence, he had still ended up here. In the dark. Scared. Fighting for his life. In that same fucking space everyone else seemed to have ended up.
What the fuck did I do to deserve this?
He turned his head, a distant sound.
The noise increased in volume, slowly at first, then exponentially. He raised his hands to his ears, relinquishing his rifle to hang by its strap.
“Pick up your fucking weapon!,” the sergeant screamed at him over the cacophony.
“Fuck you, sir!”
The sergeant stared at him. “Sorry, what?,” eyes cold as steel.
“I said fuck you,” picking up the rifle and shooting him between the eyes.
DeMeyer turned to look at him, “Graves, what the fuck are you doing?!”
Graves shrugged before chuckling. “I just needed some space.”
© JR Bryden, 2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from JR Bryden is strictly prohibited.