The Beginning

The day started with terror. Smoke, death, and sobbing filled the air. Goggles frosted over with sweat and blood gazed wildly out at a seemingly endless field of trenches, each filled with unknowable numbers of shadows and ghosts. A twitch, a sudden jerk of the body and suddenly he fell down. He couldn't feel for everything had gone numb hours ago, and the sudden rush of blood and the shocking warmth that ballooned out of him felt...pleasant. Then the utter stink of the terrified puddles of frozen piss, blood and guts filled his nose even despite the protective mask he had been wearing. His eyes bulged as he saw the hole in his leg, he could seen the damn snow through the hole. The world seemed to stand still, though the sounds of war continued regardless as they always did. Then the moment was gone as over him stood the same man who stood over him every time he had this dream. The face was so clear, even though everything should have murky, eyes a bright emerald green with the most amazing sheen of brown hair. His skin was far too fair, he shouldn't have been here, it seemed wrong somehow that a face like that should be this far north, so close it seemed to the Kremlin that if he had spit he might have hit the Red Square. Then it was over, and the boy gave him the same look of incredulity, as if the fact that there was a combat knife planted now squarely in the middle of his testicles wasn't the most painful thing he should have been feeling. Instead he appeared as affected by it as anyone else when they slapped a mosquito away. Then he toppled over like so many had before him.

Johnny toppled with him, and with a resounding thump he crashed out of bed like he had so many time before, wild-eyed and aging a stark 50 years from that day in that icy kill box between the Krauts and those bugger all Russians. Then the smell of death was replaced with the filth of grease and leaked gas. As his creaking limbs slowly went through the motions, his mind slowly began to march forward, cobwebs and dusty clockwork slowly coming to life, with the new gas prices and current automobile mileages rising to the forefront. He stumped over to the door of his bedroom, kitchen, closet, and living room once dressed fully, and pushed it open to go down the dimly lit hallway to the counter of his gas station. Blearily he looked out across the aisles, checking the gum, the soda's, and everything else. It was all where it should be, as it always was. He leaned back and checked his shotgun. Though old by anyones standards, it was oiled, clean, and well worn. It was never used much anymore, but it was still there. Just like Ol' Johnny was. His dull brown eyes rolled over to the clock. 8 o'clock exactly. His eyes rolled back to the front door. He waited, and lived. Just like everyday.