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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Fantasy · #1478771
Short Story Scene entered for a class. Contains several recurring characters.
         Sean rolled off of his bunk, narrowly dodging the shoe that had been heading for his head. He yawned, stood up, snagged the shoe, and winged it back in the direction it had come from, and was rewarded with a muffled grunt. He’d missed the one who’d thrown it in the first place, but hey, win some, lose some. He quickly dressed, pulling on his pants and shirt, then belting on his blades and throwing his cloak around his shoulders. He then slipped his shoes on, and jogged out of the tent.
         He was assuming, but it was fairly safe to say that the shoe had been a message to get out of bed and see the boss. As he headed in that direction, his heart rate increased. They’d been stuck in camp waiting for the go ahead for the last week. They had been destined for a black ops mission deep behind enemy lines. The 20 of them were meant to infiltrate an enemy base comprised of 10,000 men, set charges at specific points, and get out, all of this without alerting the camp. They had been given permission to kill, but only when necessary and when it would not compromise the mission.
         Seeing as he was a team leader, it made sense that he would be one of the first notified if they had been given the go ahead. So he was getting fairly excited, though it would never show on his face. Jogging up to his boss’s tent, he poked his head through the flap, and then almost fell over backwards when his boss’s face appeared inches in front of his.
         “Please, sir, don’t do that. That’s three this week already, and I’m pretty sure you’re shortening my life by a fair amount every time.”
         Celina settled back, rocking back and forth on her heels, one arm wrapped around her knees. She had a candy bar in her other hand and was munching on it. She was wearing long loose jeans, and a loose t-shirt. Her hair was long and brown, but slightly messy, and it looked like it hadn’t been trimmed in a while. The only sign that she was in fact an officer was the insignia stitched to the left shoulder of her shirt.  In contrast, Sean was clean shaven, with short, clean and neat black hair, dressed in tight, neatly put together clothing, despite the speed at which he’d dressed. Sean was also light on his feet, making almost no sound when he moved, compared to Celina who rustled every time she even thought about moving.
         She giggled slightly and glanced up into his face. “But it’s so fun…” She sighed, and looked over at a trunk. She snagged some papers with some very messy handwriting on it, and handed them to Sean. “That came through this morning over the quiet comms. It looks like our vacation is over.”
         Sean scanned through the papers, speed reading to pick out the details she’d marked down which were actually relevant to their mission, not just random bored scribblings. “So, PT today, and we head out at 8 tonight? Is that what I’m supposed to be reading out of this? Or is your handwriting just as indecipherable as usual?” He glanced over at her, the corner of his mouth twitching.
         She looked at him, and pouted slightly. “You’re not nice, you know that Sean? You’re not nice at all.”
         With a completely straight face, he replied, “I know. But you work with me anyways. And you never answered my question. Was I right?” Then he got serious. “If I’m right, tell me. We need to start preparing right away.”
         She took in how serious he was, pouted a little bit, then sighed, and nodded. “You’re right, I know. And yes, you’re right. But we’ll head out 30 minutes after sunset, just long enough for our eyes to adjust. Get your squad together, tell them, and pass it along to Damon too. And tell everyone I need to talk to them about 6. Dismissed.”
         Sean backed up a little, saluted, then backed the rest of the way out of the tent. He then stood up, brushed his knees off, and trotted back towards the barracks. Finally, we go out. I’ll let everyone know, and we’ll get ready.
© Copyright 2008 Denkou Uindo (aendri at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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