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arrow_of_apollo) wrote2009-05-19 03:08 pm
arrow_of_apollo) wrote2009-05-19 03:08 pm
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theatrical_muse] 282 - Talk about funeral arrangements
282 - Talk about funeral arrangements.
I knew he probably wouldn't have wanted me to do it, but then I wasn't a soldier under his command any more.
Come to think of it, he really wasn't the Admiral any more, either. No fleet and no flagship sort of implied a permanent dissolution of the Colonial military, even if everyone tended to treat him as the Admiral, right up until he left.
It was about a month after I had waved goodbye to him and to Pres-- to Laura-- when I got the idea into my head to turn around. By then, I'd hiked about fifty klicks in a couple of different directions, amazed every time by the diversity of life here on this planet. Here on Earth. But something pulled me back, and so in accordance with the way I've come to live as a newly-minted Earthman, I went.
The hill wasn't hard to find. I started by heading in the direction my father had taken the Raptor that day, and keeping my eye out for a spot of high ground where I would have put a place to live. And as soon as I saw the small ridge, I knew I'd found it even before I got close enough to see he'd been busy.
There was a small shelter-- more than a lean-to, something less than a hut-- and a fire pit ringed by blackened rocks. Narrowing my eyes, I could see my father down on the other side of the hill, a few hundred meters away, gathering wood. He saw me, I'm pretty sure, but didn't call out or make his way to the hill.
About ten or fifteen paces away was the cairn.
It was a pile of rocks, carefully arranged into a person-sized pile, clearly done with the kind of care and attention only the most important tasks could be given. There had been no doubt when it came to Laura's fate, and how quickly it would come. I could only pray that the end had come with as little pain and fuss as possible.
I didn't even have to wonder if he'd been there. I knew he had, and that was probably enough for her.
I knelt down next to the cairn and put my hand on the rocks, listening to the wind. After a few minutes, I stood, glanced down toward my father who had bent back to his work, then walked away.
I'll keep coming back, and one day, I'll make the other cairn. I think they both would want it that way.
(424)
I knew he probably wouldn't have wanted me to do it, but then I wasn't a soldier under his command any more.
Come to think of it, he really wasn't the Admiral any more, either. No fleet and no flagship sort of implied a permanent dissolution of the Colonial military, even if everyone tended to treat him as the Admiral, right up until he left.
It was about a month after I had waved goodbye to him and to Pres-- to Laura-- when I got the idea into my head to turn around. By then, I'd hiked about fifty klicks in a couple of different directions, amazed every time by the diversity of life here on this planet. Here on Earth. But something pulled me back, and so in accordance with the way I've come to live as a newly-minted Earthman, I went.
The hill wasn't hard to find. I started by heading in the direction my father had taken the Raptor that day, and keeping my eye out for a spot of high ground where I would have put a place to live. And as soon as I saw the small ridge, I knew I'd found it even before I got close enough to see he'd been busy.
There was a small shelter-- more than a lean-to, something less than a hut-- and a fire pit ringed by blackened rocks. Narrowing my eyes, I could see my father down on the other side of the hill, a few hundred meters away, gathering wood. He saw me, I'm pretty sure, but didn't call out or make his way to the hill.
About ten or fifteen paces away was the cairn.
It was a pile of rocks, carefully arranged into a person-sized pile, clearly done with the kind of care and attention only the most important tasks could be given. There had been no doubt when it came to Laura's fate, and how quickly it would come. I could only pray that the end had come with as little pain and fuss as possible.
I didn't even have to wonder if he'd been there. I knew he had, and that was probably enough for her.
I knelt down next to the cairn and put my hand on the rocks, listening to the wind. After a few minutes, I stood, glanced down toward my father who had bent back to his work, then walked away.
I'll keep coming back, and one day, I'll make the other cairn. I think they both would want it that way.
(424)