Catalyst

Today's post is by Bronwyn Cair:

“Today,” Admiral Roth somberly began her address, “we suffered a great blow. We lost hundreds. Some were our friends, some were our family. They were our mothers, our daughters, our wives. They were our fathers, husbands, sons, sisters and brothers. This is a day we will never forget. We will hold their memories in our hearts for all eternity.”

Photo: www.maxwell.af.mil

She paused, looked down at what had become her family away from home. They were all mourning. She thought about her son, her daughter and her partner, all fighters. All killed.

Photo: www.cargolaw.com

“And because of what they have done, it will be a day that Govern will never forget. Because of what they have done, we have an opportunity to strike back with a vengeance Govern has never seen.”

Photo: www.okefood.com

Admiral Roth’s podium shook with the volume of their cheers, the voices of every man and woman united in a fierce cry of agreement.



“We will not allow them to stomp out the light that burns within our hearts. We will not allow them to take away who we are. We will fight, in the names of those we have lost, and we will show them what a mighty nation we are. We are the Last Air Contingent, and we will not let our honor be forgotten!”

Guest Post: Alex

We get to have Bronwyn Cair back today:


I could sit here and tell you that I know who I am, where I’ve been and where I’m gonna go, but anything I said would be a lie. Truth is, I don’t know where I came from. I’m pretty sure I have military training and a little brother somewhere, and that I love sushi, but I’d never eat tuna.

Sometimes, in my dreams, I can see children hiding from me -- from other men like me, men with guns in army fatigues -- and I wonder if I was the good guy or the bad guy. G says it doesn’t really make a difference. She hasn’t seen what I’ve seen.

Photo: www.deisisraellobby.blogspot.com

To be honest, I’m not so sure it’s that black and white. I mean, the good guys sometimes do bad things. The doctors make fatal decisions, the senators take bribes, the guy who swears to protect and serve kills innocent people in the name of liberty… So maybe she’s right-- what’s the difference, really? Maybe we’re all a little of both.

Photo: www.crossandcutlass.blogspot.com

I don’t know if I’ll ever know if I’m the good guy who does bad things, or the bad guy who does good things. I know my name. Alex. That’s about it. When I met G, she told me I’d wake up one day and remember everything; my birthday, my hometown, how I got here, all of it. It’s been three years.

I’m still waiting.

Photo: www.formybeautifullove.com

Guest Post: Gunny

I'm happy to have Bronwyn Cair back as a guest blogger:

Maude's Journal:

Friday, Night Time.  I don’t like the way they look at me. All… mucky. Their faces, mucky. They don’t like me, I see it, I know, but they don’t care, and the other ones, they don’t see them. Probably plotting against me, like those things they call spoons. Not utensils, not at all, not when they’re so sinister. Sinister in disguise. I have proof, too. I saw him go, disappear, poof! Right before my eyes. I saw it. They don’t believe me. They laugh, the mocking things. I don’t need them to believe me, I have Gunny. She believes me. Every time I walk past a reflecty, I can tell Gunny what I saw. She waves when I wave, smiles at me like I smile, ‘cause she likes me. And Hans, he’s good. He gets it, he listens, he smiles. Not like the mocking things, they don’t smile or wave.

They're just mucky.

Photo: zeusitup.com

Saturday, Morning Time. Somebody else went. In the night. I saw it. The mocking things still hate me, don’t believe me. Gunny says be careful.

Photo: farm6.staticflickr.com

Saturday, Night Time. I hear them whispering. All the time, just sneaking, whispering. They say I’m next. The spoons, they’re plotting things. Like the mocking things. Too many things. Gunny looks scared, too. I packed up camp. Not gonna let them poof! Not th--

Hans

The old man bent to pick up the stray notebook, closed it up, put it on Maude’s crate. She had a disease, one that required medication, but she couldn’t afford it. She suffered from delusions, hallucinations; she ranted about them to anyone who would listen, about abductions, disappearances, and most people just laughed at her. She was just a crazy person. Few cared to get to know Maude better, to find out whether or not her ravings held some truth. The old man had just recently discovered that when she talked about “spoons”, she didn’t actually mean the flatware. She meant people dressed in odd suits, with rounded helmets. Probably just another of her hallucinations. He wondered where she had gone.

Photo: essediem.files.wordpress.com

Last night she had told him part of one of her abduction stories, one that she’d told some of the other villagers, but they mocked her for it. They didn’t believe her, because it was so implausible. He never got to hear the ending. He’d hoped to hear it tonight. He looked at the horizon; it was getting late. His wife was holding dinner for them, him and Maude. It was Maude’s favorite. She’d turn up eventually. She wandered often, getting lost in thought or running from the “spoons”. He pulled his jacket tighter around him, and began the walk home, odd whispers filling the night air at his back.

Photo: farm4.staticflickr.com