Libertonian Servicemember's Bar & Grill

[Melanie Tyler]

The cubicle door slammed shut behind her, shaking a layer of dust from the stall and onto her head. Hartman hardly noticed it. She stared at the back of the door, furious. Her hands balled into tight fists, clutching at a rifle that wasn't there. Bright red drops tumbled from her palms as her nails cut into her flesh, splattering on the white tile. The Recruit gritted her teeth, forcing the pain to the back of her mind, desperately trying to drag the memories back with them.

What now Private? Are you going to cry? Squeal like a little girl? Her drill instructor's voice was so vivid, Jane had to remind herself it was just her memory. The actual event had happened years ago, basic was years behind her. Just a memory. But it was so real. She could feel Houston's sun beating down on her neck, the cramps in her legs, the hundreds of Marines on parade around her. They'd done it. Selection. Nothing but a dream for so long, a fantasy entertained when her motivation flagged. It had seemed so distant. Now, on the parade ground, for the first time in her life it was finally real. She was going to be a Marine. A sea of familiar figures loomed at the corners of her vision, united in the grey of their fresh uniforms, the pride in their faces mirroring her own. Week one had been hell, candidates dropping like flies as the brutal training regime cut their numbers in half. But these few, they had survived. She had survived.

Survived as the candidates around her caved in, driven to exhaustion or injury. Survived the verbal attacks of their instructors, the sleepless nights, the endless weapons drills and the night marches. Together, somehow, they had made it. Sometimes carrying the others, sometimes being carried herself. It was only week four, only the beginning, but already she knew the people around her better then her own family. Byten, Brown, Frederick, Martin, Powell, Mullins'€¦ All of them her squad, her brothers and sisters.

All of them dead. And she had survived.

Hollow, she pressed a hand against the door, too weak to hit it. She wanted to scream aloud at the injustice of it, at the God that could let so many good people die, that had let her live. Where was the justice in it? She sighed heavily, sinking to the floor. This wasn'€™t her. It never was, when this happened. Soon, she would pull herself together, go to the hanger. Wait for her interview.

Just, right now, it was all too hard.

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This character is retired.