Post by HollowSaber on Feb 2, 2013 0:14:19 GMT -6
From looking around, this looks like the right place to post some stories! So, here's one featuring the character I'm making!
Oh Saint Peter,
Please heed my request,
Please don’t take my breath...
Oh Saint Peter,
Don’t open the gate,
Please just wait.
“So... this is it huh...?” Lysander thought, staring forward towards the white light across the way.
Still dressed in his battle gear, and still holding his rifle, Lysander sighed heavily in the dark. Even though he could still see his own hands and body, the darkness was terrifying. So, he did what every man was told and started towards the light. Pulling the strap of his battle rifle to lift up the weapon to his shoulder, he held it tight as he began the march. As he walked, the blackness began to blur and shudder.
“Well, isn’t that nice.” Lysander laughed as he watched his life run on the walls of the dark hall. The man paused and watched as his mother held out her hands for him as he took his first steps. A tight pressed smiled squeezed out as he watched himself fall right before he reached her, then the sound of his father’s voice came through..
“Get up.. You aren’t there yet boy.”
That hard tone was something Lysander never forgot, and even though it was one he considered from Satan himself, he always listened. His father had been through hell, and was lucky to meet a woman like Lysander’s mother along the way. Her silky brunette hair and rosy red cheeks. Lysander got her hair, and the green color of her eyes. He also ended up getting his father’s dark iris’ though, making the green less bright. The cold look that Lysander always remembers was there even during his first steps, as his father was right behind his mother, arms crossed and eyes still unpleased.
“Get up.” Lysander’s father called again, and slowly Lysander watched himself get back to his feet.
Slowly, his toddler self got back up and took that next step. His father growled and his mother smiled happily. The two complete opposites stared down at their child, one wanting him to come to her arms, the other just waiting for him to fail. Lysander didn’t know better back then about anything but that he needed to get to momma. If he didn’t, Dad wouldn’t be happy with him.
“Come on buddy...” Lysander whispered, putting his hand out gently against the wall as he watched.
“You can do it...” He said in unison with his father as he watched himself walk slowly into his mother’s arms. One foot at a time, the toddler made his way the last two floor tiles to his mother. Lysander smirked and clenched his fist as the memory faded. He felt the tears pull at his eyes but blinked hard to hold them back.
Turning back to his right, looking forward, he started his march again. Lysander held onto the strap of his rifle as if it was holding him up, and staggered slightly as the memories of his childhood flared around beside him. Every moment, every second. If he believed it was important, it was there, and he slowed his march to a steady stroll so he could watch. His mother’s gentle voice echoed just as sweetly as ever...
“I love you, my little boy...”
Lysander’s heart twisted and he felt his throat clutch as a massive clump of pressure filled it. It took about three or four swallows to get it down, but by then, it was coming right back as he stopped beside the first day of football practice at his school. He watched himself go through practice, just as every other player on the team was. Though, it wasn’t the practice that was memorable; it was his sister. That woman was a piece of work.
She was several years older than Lysander, but was his inspiration. That reason rested solely on how bold she was, and how she held herself. If his father was made of solid refined concrete, his sister had to be made out of granite. She was a force to be reckoned with, and no man dared enter that bubble without the emergency room on speed dial.
Just like he remembered, she was there. Sitting on the home bleachers, six rows up and right in the middle. She sat there with her things and watched Lysander. The little freshman was nothing more than a piece of meat for the other players, but after almost every rep he did. After every play, Lysander was laughed at because his sister was holding up a sign. The signs ranged from several different spirit lifting words. She wrote to him “Good job bro!”, or “Keep it up!”. And when he messed up, she held up the sign “Get up boy! You ain’t done yet!”.
Lysander was happy with getting laughed at and teased about it by the team. He was okay with going home with several bags of ice every practice. He was okay with playing his ass off everyday and getting called a “try-hard” or an “overachiever” by his teammates. He was okay with it because he didn’t see anyone else’s family in those bleachers every day.
The memory faded at the last whistle of practice almost two hours later, and the next pane immediately turned on. Lysander lifted an eyebrow and looked over to see a light in the distance. Lysander stood about a foot back from the wall and watched. This was the moment he remembered waiting for ever since his freshman year of High School.
Slowly, the light came closer and closer, as did the sounds of thousands. The echoing cries and shouts flooded into the tunnel as the light expanded. The sound was so deafening, he couldn’t hear the sound of his cleats clicking on the ground. To his right, two others he recognized appeared and sprinted out through the light before him, and the field appeared beneath their feet. The massive old-style football arena exploded into view, and thousands of people rose to their feet. Lysander sprinted out with the first handful of players into the noise. Holding his helmet up high as he ran through the long line of cheerleaders and other stadium staff members, the proud player went right out to about the thirty yard line with his College team. They were in the Championship match this day, and it was something they were all happy for.
While everyone gathered and chanted the team’s cry, Lysander actually took a half a step back. He searched the crowd, scanning every face and every sign that was raised. Spinning completely around, he frowned hard as he failed to see what he was looking for. Returning to his team, Lysander finished the cheer with them, and snapped on his helmet. As he pulled the aged chinstrap across his helmet, a light tap hit his shoulder.
“Hey Felix, isn’t that your family?” Number 53, Kyle Borden, pointed up to the big screen as the camera focused on a small area. His sister was standing there between his mother and father holding up the same sign she held up at the first day of practice; “Good Job Bro!”
The image got just enough limelight to get his attention, and Lysander immediately turned to see them looking at him. His father still had that stern look, but his mother and sister were cheering him on as his sister held the sign. Lysander smiled and popped in his mouth piece as the team split up across the sideline. He went right to his coach and waited with the man and their quarterback for the referees. When beckoned by the officials, Lysander and the Quarterback clutched hands and walked out.
“Last time we’re doing this huh?” The Quarterback, #6, Gregory Hetchill, had been with Lysander ever since the first day.
“Seems like it.” Lysander responded with a smirk.
“I wish my family was like yours.” Greg said, and Lysander peered over at him.
“Everyone hated that your sister was the only one there..”
As the memory continued, Lysander pulled his rifle off his shoulder and held it tight by the strap. After every play, and every call, his sister continued to hold up those signs for him. Even when he was on the sidelines, whenever he looked over, she smiled and held up a sign for him. This memory wasn’t simply because of his sister being there, nor did he care that they crushed their opponent fifty-eight to twenty-three. It was that finally pat on the back by his coach. The man pointed to the main screen. Lysander dropped his helmet to the ground as he looked up at the end of the game. The noise of the stadium faded, and tears built up in his eyes as he stared.
His father stood there in the middle of the screen, holding up a blank white sign except for fivewords. The words struck Lysander’s chest like a train and pulled him to his knees.
“I’m proud of you, Boy.”
Lysander couldn’t help but collapse in the middle of the field. He watched the tears drip off his cheeks and could feel his body give out. Twenty years he had lived and fought, trying to hear those words from his father. Lysander sat back onto his feet and looked up passed the floating media cameras to his father. The man stood there, holding up the sign with the first smile Lysander had ever seen.
Tears slid down Lysander’s cheeks as the memory faded and he stood there, frozen as he stared into the blackness. Even with his gloves on, he could feel the weavings of the rifle strap he gripped so tightly onto. He didn’t want that moment to end, and he wished he could’ve just sat in the middle of that field for the rest of his life, or even this moment.
A gentle hand came down on his shoulder and squeezed it gently to get his attention. When Lysander turned to look, he saw a man in white with a small cane supporting him. The light had become much brighter, and was about five feet behind the white figure. The man smiled at Lysander, and rested his hand back down on the cane.
Lysander turned to face the man and wiped his face clean of wetness before snapping his heels together. Standing up straight, clutching his rifle strap tight, and holding his free hand to his side, the soldier stood at attention.
“Another Marine reporting sir, I’ve served my time in hell.” Lysander said loudly, but the man before him simply smiled.
“You have done well, Lysander. But time will tell, when you’ve finished your time in hell.” The man tapped his cane once onto the empty floor. A figure appeared behind him and slowly walked out.
The older looking man, about mid-forties, strode out from the light. It was Lysander’s father, and he holding onto something tight in his hand. Keeping his eyes straight, Lysander gulped and swallowed the pressure in his throat again as his father stepped up beside the other man. The man in white stepped to the side and Lysander’s father took another step.
“Relax... This isn’t boot camp son.” Lysander’s father muttered, and Lysander immediately relaxed.
“I’ve met some people here, you know..” The man said, looking down at the envelope he was holding.
“Both friends, enemies, and I’ve even found your mother again. She came a little later than I expected, but she still came. I was called up by the big man himself to go get her. She was giving Peter here hell for not telling her where I was.” Lysander’s father sighed and looked up at his son.
“I’ve met a lot of people here, Lysander. Men I’ve fought and killed. Met I’ve loved as brothers. I even found my own father and mother. My sisters, my brothers. Uncles, Aunts, Grandparents. Hell, I met a relative from a hundred years back.” Lysander’s father held up the envelope carefully and smiled softly, handing it to him.
“You’ve made me proud, my Son. More proud than anyone on Earth. Seeing you grow, watching you succeed. I watched everything with these eyes, and even though I didn’t smile as much as you would’ve liked, I was happy. Your mother would yell at me almost every night about me not showing you more affection. You weren’t that type of kid though. I knew it since I told you to get up and make it to your mother that first day you walked.” Lysander took the envelope from his Father and stared at it.
“You were my boy, and I was the happiest man alive just knowing that. You made me proud son, and you still do... But son...” The ‘but’ made Lysander look up to his old man.
“I talked to the big man a few minutes ago after watching you. I knew what was going to happen, and so did he. I may believe in him and his power, but my belief in you is much stronger. So I bowed my head to him one more time, just like I did when I left your mother and prayed for her safety.”
“You aren’t done yet boy...” Lysander’s father said sternly as he placed his hand on his son’s shoulder.
“Not yet...”
“Those men need you down there. More than God needs your soul. They need someone strong both inside and outside. They need someone who makes me feel weak. They need you boy.” Lysander’s father smiled and pulled his hand back.
“Dad... I’m already gone. What do you want me to do?” Lysander asked, looking towards the smiling man in white.
“You aren’t gone until you cross the gate, Felix. And that...” Lysander’s father pointed at the envelope.
“Is your ticket back.”
“But Da-”
“Son... It’s not your time to go, and I’m not the only one who isn’t going to let you in.” Almost on cue, Lysander’s mother appeared in the light, smiling at him softly.
“We both want you to go back, not because we hate you or because we don’t want you here... But because you don’t belong here yet. You belong down below with those other boys. They need someone to lead them through that war. They need someone to act like a father and guide them. Do you really want to leave them behind?” Lysander’s father said, his smile turning into a thin line.
“No sir...” Lysander answered.
“Do you want to see them die?” The next question came quick.
“No sir.” Lysander answered just as quickly.
“Then open that envelope, Felix...”
Lysander looked down at the sealed letter holder in his hand while he thought. It didn’t take much of that thought before his finger sliced across the seal, breaking it open. Looking up into his Father’s eyes, then over at his mother, Lysander made his decision. He moved passed his father to the man in white, and pulled the ticket out from the envelope.
“Saint Peter... My time in he--...” Lysander stopped and gripped the ticket as Peter placed his hand on it. Lysander looked down at it for a long few seconds before looking up into Peter’s eyes.
“I’m not done yet.”
The light filled Lysander’s eyes and in a flash his father, his mother, Saint Peter, and the tunnel were all gone...
In the distance, Lysander could hear a faint noise. A voice called out to him, and he gradually began to feel pressure on his chest. Floating there in the darkness, Lysander gripped his rifle and blinked hard.
“I’m not done yet...” He thought, pulling the rifle off his shoulder.
“I’m not done fighting yet...” Yanking the bolt hard, he cycled the round in the chamber.
“I’m not done leading them...” He took a breath as the voice started become much more clear.
“Sarge... Sarge! Sergeant!!”
“I’m not done with hell yet!”
Suddenly, life filled his soul and his eyes shot open as three soldiers leaned over him. Two medics and his corporal were all looking at him in amazement. Lysander looked into all six of the eyes staring at him and licked inside his dry mouth slowly. Death tasted worse than the energy bar in Tuesday’s M.R.E. He took several slow breaths to fill his burning lungs, and blinked about forty times before his eyes got moist enough for him to see clearly.
“Holy shit.” The medic said, staring down at Lysander as he came back from the dead.
“No pulse, no breath... then this...”
“Shut up and get the damn bullet!” Lysander’s Corporal barked. The nametag on his chest read ‘Ridely’.
“Sir! The Rebels are pushing!” A voice called from not to far away from where Lysander lay, yet the voice was still quiet.
“Hold them off long enough for the medics to do their job!” Ridely yelled back, turning to face the medics.
“Time?” Ridely asked, but the two men continued to work on Lysander without answering.
“Time god damn it!” Ridely barked, punching the ground beside Lysander.
“We need three minutes!” One of the medics finally answered.
“Three minutes!” Ridely echoed, moving away with his rifle raised. The man fired three bursts, then ducked down behind a piece of cover just on the corner of Lysander’s eyes.
“We’re here for you Sarge! Stay put and let those medics patch you up!” Ridely said as he turned to shoot around the cover.
Lysander groaned and tried to move, but was immediately pushed down by a third person. A woman put her knees across his biceps, trapping him down as she looked to the medics.
“How is he?” She asked, ducking and showing the crest of her helmet where a medical sign was also pasted.
“The bullet is in deep, but we can get it. Then we just have to fill it with foam and tape him up. He can’t fight though, we have to get him immediate attention back at the base.” The primary medic leaned over Lysander with a small set of tweezers.
As the medic reached down, the female medic pulled his head back and smiled at him. Her face was much like his mothers. The bright blue eyes, rounded red cheeks, and gentle smile. She held his head back and kept his eyes on her while a slight tingling feeling itched at his chest. There wasn’t any pain, but the itching was worse than pain.
“Good boy.” The woman patted his cheek and looked up as the itching feeling returned. Then came the fire. Lysander struggled, but he was held down tight and his body was still trying to reconnect with his brain.
Blocking out the sun, a Pelican appeared and started to drop down right beside them. Several orders came from Ridely’s voice and the woman finally got off Lysander’s arms. The medics scooped him up and placed him on a stretched before immediately hauling him into the bay of the pelican. Once he was strapped in, the Medics banged on the side of the bay and nodded to the Marines. The gunfire began to fade, as did the light, until only the red emergancy light filled the bay.
“Well, that went well.” Ridely muttered, planting himself in a seat across the bay. Several others groaned and made noises at him in return.
The female medic took a seat beside Lysander’s head and looked down at him. A cross fell out with her dogtags from under her uniform, quickly catching his eye. She smiled at him and rub his cheek softly, bringing warmth to his dirty cold face. The woman leaned down close and gave Lysander a soft kiss on his forehead before sitting back up.
“I was worried that you were going to leave me for a minute.” Lysander didn’t have to read the nametag on this woman to know who she was, which wasn’t much of a surprise.
Lysander smiled and raised up his hand, stretching it a bit to show he wanted to hold her hand. Yet, instead, he got the same hand he had held about ten years back. His old friend, Hetchill, held his hand tight and smiled at him.
“I’m glad you didn’t, Brother. Welcome back.” Hetchill patted Lysander’s hand gently and grabbed the woman’s. He placed Lysanders with hers and nodded before leaving the two be.
Lysander smiled and gripped the woman’s soft hand tight as feeling in his hand began to return.
“I was told that I wasn’t done yet...” Lysander said, looking up at the top of the pelican as he spoke.
“Oh? By whom?” The woman asked.
“The man who I’ve always wanted to be...” Lysander loosened his grip and shut his eyes. Not a breath later, he was asleep with a hole in his chest just inches beside his heart.
Oh Saint Peter..
Don’t let me leave them,
Don’t let me leave my brethren,
Oh Saint Peter,
Don’t you open that gate.
Don’t you tell me it’s too late.
Oh Saint Peter,
Don’t take my soul,
Let me grow old,
Oh Saint Peter,
Send me back home.
Send me back alone.
Because Saint Peter..
I’m not quite done.
Please heed my request,
Please don’t take my breath...
Oh Saint Peter,
Don’t open the gate,
Please just wait.
“So... this is it huh...?” Lysander thought, staring forward towards the white light across the way.
Still dressed in his battle gear, and still holding his rifle, Lysander sighed heavily in the dark. Even though he could still see his own hands and body, the darkness was terrifying. So, he did what every man was told and started towards the light. Pulling the strap of his battle rifle to lift up the weapon to his shoulder, he held it tight as he began the march. As he walked, the blackness began to blur and shudder.
“Well, isn’t that nice.” Lysander laughed as he watched his life run on the walls of the dark hall. The man paused and watched as his mother held out her hands for him as he took his first steps. A tight pressed smiled squeezed out as he watched himself fall right before he reached her, then the sound of his father’s voice came through..
“Get up.. You aren’t there yet boy.”
That hard tone was something Lysander never forgot, and even though it was one he considered from Satan himself, he always listened. His father had been through hell, and was lucky to meet a woman like Lysander’s mother along the way. Her silky brunette hair and rosy red cheeks. Lysander got her hair, and the green color of her eyes. He also ended up getting his father’s dark iris’ though, making the green less bright. The cold look that Lysander always remembers was there even during his first steps, as his father was right behind his mother, arms crossed and eyes still unpleased.
“Get up.” Lysander’s father called again, and slowly Lysander watched himself get back to his feet.
Slowly, his toddler self got back up and took that next step. His father growled and his mother smiled happily. The two complete opposites stared down at their child, one wanting him to come to her arms, the other just waiting for him to fail. Lysander didn’t know better back then about anything but that he needed to get to momma. If he didn’t, Dad wouldn’t be happy with him.
“Come on buddy...” Lysander whispered, putting his hand out gently against the wall as he watched.
“You can do it...” He said in unison with his father as he watched himself walk slowly into his mother’s arms. One foot at a time, the toddler made his way the last two floor tiles to his mother. Lysander smirked and clenched his fist as the memory faded. He felt the tears pull at his eyes but blinked hard to hold them back.
Turning back to his right, looking forward, he started his march again. Lysander held onto the strap of his rifle as if it was holding him up, and staggered slightly as the memories of his childhood flared around beside him. Every moment, every second. If he believed it was important, it was there, and he slowed his march to a steady stroll so he could watch. His mother’s gentle voice echoed just as sweetly as ever...
“I love you, my little boy...”
Lysander’s heart twisted and he felt his throat clutch as a massive clump of pressure filled it. It took about three or four swallows to get it down, but by then, it was coming right back as he stopped beside the first day of football practice at his school. He watched himself go through practice, just as every other player on the team was. Though, it wasn’t the practice that was memorable; it was his sister. That woman was a piece of work.
She was several years older than Lysander, but was his inspiration. That reason rested solely on how bold she was, and how she held herself. If his father was made of solid refined concrete, his sister had to be made out of granite. She was a force to be reckoned with, and no man dared enter that bubble without the emergency room on speed dial.
Just like he remembered, she was there. Sitting on the home bleachers, six rows up and right in the middle. She sat there with her things and watched Lysander. The little freshman was nothing more than a piece of meat for the other players, but after almost every rep he did. After every play, Lysander was laughed at because his sister was holding up a sign. The signs ranged from several different spirit lifting words. She wrote to him “Good job bro!”, or “Keep it up!”. And when he messed up, she held up the sign “Get up boy! You ain’t done yet!”.
Lysander was happy with getting laughed at and teased about it by the team. He was okay with going home with several bags of ice every practice. He was okay with playing his ass off everyday and getting called a “try-hard” or an “overachiever” by his teammates. He was okay with it because he didn’t see anyone else’s family in those bleachers every day.
The memory faded at the last whistle of practice almost two hours later, and the next pane immediately turned on. Lysander lifted an eyebrow and looked over to see a light in the distance. Lysander stood about a foot back from the wall and watched. This was the moment he remembered waiting for ever since his freshman year of High School.
Slowly, the light came closer and closer, as did the sounds of thousands. The echoing cries and shouts flooded into the tunnel as the light expanded. The sound was so deafening, he couldn’t hear the sound of his cleats clicking on the ground. To his right, two others he recognized appeared and sprinted out through the light before him, and the field appeared beneath their feet. The massive old-style football arena exploded into view, and thousands of people rose to their feet. Lysander sprinted out with the first handful of players into the noise. Holding his helmet up high as he ran through the long line of cheerleaders and other stadium staff members, the proud player went right out to about the thirty yard line with his College team. They were in the Championship match this day, and it was something they were all happy for.
While everyone gathered and chanted the team’s cry, Lysander actually took a half a step back. He searched the crowd, scanning every face and every sign that was raised. Spinning completely around, he frowned hard as he failed to see what he was looking for. Returning to his team, Lysander finished the cheer with them, and snapped on his helmet. As he pulled the aged chinstrap across his helmet, a light tap hit his shoulder.
“Hey Felix, isn’t that your family?” Number 53, Kyle Borden, pointed up to the big screen as the camera focused on a small area. His sister was standing there between his mother and father holding up the same sign she held up at the first day of practice; “Good Job Bro!”
The image got just enough limelight to get his attention, and Lysander immediately turned to see them looking at him. His father still had that stern look, but his mother and sister were cheering him on as his sister held the sign. Lysander smiled and popped in his mouth piece as the team split up across the sideline. He went right to his coach and waited with the man and their quarterback for the referees. When beckoned by the officials, Lysander and the Quarterback clutched hands and walked out.
“Last time we’re doing this huh?” The Quarterback, #6, Gregory Hetchill, had been with Lysander ever since the first day.
“Seems like it.” Lysander responded with a smirk.
“I wish my family was like yours.” Greg said, and Lysander peered over at him.
“Everyone hated that your sister was the only one there..”
As the memory continued, Lysander pulled his rifle off his shoulder and held it tight by the strap. After every play, and every call, his sister continued to hold up those signs for him. Even when he was on the sidelines, whenever he looked over, she smiled and held up a sign for him. This memory wasn’t simply because of his sister being there, nor did he care that they crushed their opponent fifty-eight to twenty-three. It was that finally pat on the back by his coach. The man pointed to the main screen. Lysander dropped his helmet to the ground as he looked up at the end of the game. The noise of the stadium faded, and tears built up in his eyes as he stared.
His father stood there in the middle of the screen, holding up a blank white sign except for fivewords. The words struck Lysander’s chest like a train and pulled him to his knees.
“I’m proud of you, Boy.”
Lysander couldn’t help but collapse in the middle of the field. He watched the tears drip off his cheeks and could feel his body give out. Twenty years he had lived and fought, trying to hear those words from his father. Lysander sat back onto his feet and looked up passed the floating media cameras to his father. The man stood there, holding up the sign with the first smile Lysander had ever seen.
Tears slid down Lysander’s cheeks as the memory faded and he stood there, frozen as he stared into the blackness. Even with his gloves on, he could feel the weavings of the rifle strap he gripped so tightly onto. He didn’t want that moment to end, and he wished he could’ve just sat in the middle of that field for the rest of his life, or even this moment.
A gentle hand came down on his shoulder and squeezed it gently to get his attention. When Lysander turned to look, he saw a man in white with a small cane supporting him. The light had become much brighter, and was about five feet behind the white figure. The man smiled at Lysander, and rested his hand back down on the cane.
Lysander turned to face the man and wiped his face clean of wetness before snapping his heels together. Standing up straight, clutching his rifle strap tight, and holding his free hand to his side, the soldier stood at attention.
“Another Marine reporting sir, I’ve served my time in hell.” Lysander said loudly, but the man before him simply smiled.
“You have done well, Lysander. But time will tell, when you’ve finished your time in hell.” The man tapped his cane once onto the empty floor. A figure appeared behind him and slowly walked out.
The older looking man, about mid-forties, strode out from the light. It was Lysander’s father, and he holding onto something tight in his hand. Keeping his eyes straight, Lysander gulped and swallowed the pressure in his throat again as his father stepped up beside the other man. The man in white stepped to the side and Lysander’s father took another step.
“Relax... This isn’t boot camp son.” Lysander’s father muttered, and Lysander immediately relaxed.
“I’ve met some people here, you know..” The man said, looking down at the envelope he was holding.
“Both friends, enemies, and I’ve even found your mother again. She came a little later than I expected, but she still came. I was called up by the big man himself to go get her. She was giving Peter here hell for not telling her where I was.” Lysander’s father sighed and looked up at his son.
“I’ve met a lot of people here, Lysander. Men I’ve fought and killed. Met I’ve loved as brothers. I even found my own father and mother. My sisters, my brothers. Uncles, Aunts, Grandparents. Hell, I met a relative from a hundred years back.” Lysander’s father held up the envelope carefully and smiled softly, handing it to him.
“You’ve made me proud, my Son. More proud than anyone on Earth. Seeing you grow, watching you succeed. I watched everything with these eyes, and even though I didn’t smile as much as you would’ve liked, I was happy. Your mother would yell at me almost every night about me not showing you more affection. You weren’t that type of kid though. I knew it since I told you to get up and make it to your mother that first day you walked.” Lysander took the envelope from his Father and stared at it.
“You were my boy, and I was the happiest man alive just knowing that. You made me proud son, and you still do... But son...” The ‘but’ made Lysander look up to his old man.
“I talked to the big man a few minutes ago after watching you. I knew what was going to happen, and so did he. I may believe in him and his power, but my belief in you is much stronger. So I bowed my head to him one more time, just like I did when I left your mother and prayed for her safety.”
“You aren’t done yet boy...” Lysander’s father said sternly as he placed his hand on his son’s shoulder.
“Not yet...”
“Those men need you down there. More than God needs your soul. They need someone strong both inside and outside. They need someone who makes me feel weak. They need you boy.” Lysander’s father smiled and pulled his hand back.
“Dad... I’m already gone. What do you want me to do?” Lysander asked, looking towards the smiling man in white.
“You aren’t gone until you cross the gate, Felix. And that...” Lysander’s father pointed at the envelope.
“Is your ticket back.”
“But Da-”
“Son... It’s not your time to go, and I’m not the only one who isn’t going to let you in.” Almost on cue, Lysander’s mother appeared in the light, smiling at him softly.
“We both want you to go back, not because we hate you or because we don’t want you here... But because you don’t belong here yet. You belong down below with those other boys. They need someone to lead them through that war. They need someone to act like a father and guide them. Do you really want to leave them behind?” Lysander’s father said, his smile turning into a thin line.
“No sir...” Lysander answered.
“Do you want to see them die?” The next question came quick.
“No sir.” Lysander answered just as quickly.
“Then open that envelope, Felix...”
Lysander looked down at the sealed letter holder in his hand while he thought. It didn’t take much of that thought before his finger sliced across the seal, breaking it open. Looking up into his Father’s eyes, then over at his mother, Lysander made his decision. He moved passed his father to the man in white, and pulled the ticket out from the envelope.
“Saint Peter... My time in he--...” Lysander stopped and gripped the ticket as Peter placed his hand on it. Lysander looked down at it for a long few seconds before looking up into Peter’s eyes.
“I’m not done yet.”
The light filled Lysander’s eyes and in a flash his father, his mother, Saint Peter, and the tunnel were all gone...
In the distance, Lysander could hear a faint noise. A voice called out to him, and he gradually began to feel pressure on his chest. Floating there in the darkness, Lysander gripped his rifle and blinked hard.
“I’m not done yet...” He thought, pulling the rifle off his shoulder.
“I’m not done fighting yet...” Yanking the bolt hard, he cycled the round in the chamber.
“I’m not done leading them...” He took a breath as the voice started become much more clear.
“Sarge... Sarge! Sergeant!!”
“I’m not done with hell yet!”
Suddenly, life filled his soul and his eyes shot open as three soldiers leaned over him. Two medics and his corporal were all looking at him in amazement. Lysander looked into all six of the eyes staring at him and licked inside his dry mouth slowly. Death tasted worse than the energy bar in Tuesday’s M.R.E. He took several slow breaths to fill his burning lungs, and blinked about forty times before his eyes got moist enough for him to see clearly.
“Holy shit.” The medic said, staring down at Lysander as he came back from the dead.
“No pulse, no breath... then this...”
“Shut up and get the damn bullet!” Lysander’s Corporal barked. The nametag on his chest read ‘Ridely’.
“Sir! The Rebels are pushing!” A voice called from not to far away from where Lysander lay, yet the voice was still quiet.
“Hold them off long enough for the medics to do their job!” Ridely yelled back, turning to face the medics.
“Time?” Ridely asked, but the two men continued to work on Lysander without answering.
“Time god damn it!” Ridely barked, punching the ground beside Lysander.
“We need three minutes!” One of the medics finally answered.
“Three minutes!” Ridely echoed, moving away with his rifle raised. The man fired three bursts, then ducked down behind a piece of cover just on the corner of Lysander’s eyes.
“We’re here for you Sarge! Stay put and let those medics patch you up!” Ridely said as he turned to shoot around the cover.
Lysander groaned and tried to move, but was immediately pushed down by a third person. A woman put her knees across his biceps, trapping him down as she looked to the medics.
“How is he?” She asked, ducking and showing the crest of her helmet where a medical sign was also pasted.
“The bullet is in deep, but we can get it. Then we just have to fill it with foam and tape him up. He can’t fight though, we have to get him immediate attention back at the base.” The primary medic leaned over Lysander with a small set of tweezers.
As the medic reached down, the female medic pulled his head back and smiled at him. Her face was much like his mothers. The bright blue eyes, rounded red cheeks, and gentle smile. She held his head back and kept his eyes on her while a slight tingling feeling itched at his chest. There wasn’t any pain, but the itching was worse than pain.
“Good boy.” The woman patted his cheek and looked up as the itching feeling returned. Then came the fire. Lysander struggled, but he was held down tight and his body was still trying to reconnect with his brain.
Blocking out the sun, a Pelican appeared and started to drop down right beside them. Several orders came from Ridely’s voice and the woman finally got off Lysander’s arms. The medics scooped him up and placed him on a stretched before immediately hauling him into the bay of the pelican. Once he was strapped in, the Medics banged on the side of the bay and nodded to the Marines. The gunfire began to fade, as did the light, until only the red emergancy light filled the bay.
“Well, that went well.” Ridely muttered, planting himself in a seat across the bay. Several others groaned and made noises at him in return.
The female medic took a seat beside Lysander’s head and looked down at him. A cross fell out with her dogtags from under her uniform, quickly catching his eye. She smiled at him and rub his cheek softly, bringing warmth to his dirty cold face. The woman leaned down close and gave Lysander a soft kiss on his forehead before sitting back up.
“I was worried that you were going to leave me for a minute.” Lysander didn’t have to read the nametag on this woman to know who she was, which wasn’t much of a surprise.
Lysander smiled and raised up his hand, stretching it a bit to show he wanted to hold her hand. Yet, instead, he got the same hand he had held about ten years back. His old friend, Hetchill, held his hand tight and smiled at him.
“I’m glad you didn’t, Brother. Welcome back.” Hetchill patted Lysander’s hand gently and grabbed the woman’s. He placed Lysanders with hers and nodded before leaving the two be.
Lysander smiled and gripped the woman’s soft hand tight as feeling in his hand began to return.
“I was told that I wasn’t done yet...” Lysander said, looking up at the top of the pelican as he spoke.
“Oh? By whom?” The woman asked.
“The man who I’ve always wanted to be...” Lysander loosened his grip and shut his eyes. Not a breath later, he was asleep with a hole in his chest just inches beside his heart.
Oh Saint Peter..
Don’t let me leave them,
Don’t let me leave my brethren,
Oh Saint Peter,
Don’t you open that gate.
Don’t you tell me it’s too late.
Oh Saint Peter,
Don’t take my soul,
Let me grow old,
Oh Saint Peter,
Send me back home.
Send me back alone.
Because Saint Peter..
I’m not quite done.
