Post by Cpl. Seth Seacoal on Apr 15, 2009 0:22:22 GMT
Country: England
Current Time: 1500
Weather Conditions: A fresh spring rain cascades down
A crude white cross was all that was left of Private Elton Seacoal. Elton’s helmet hung on the top of the stake, a bullet hole going directly through the thin steel. A small collection of daffodils and other spring flowers was thrown on the muddy grass at the base of the grave, and an old photograph of Elton, Seth, and their parents rested on top of the flowers, as if to use them as a pillow. At least two hundred other white graves were placed around the big churchyard, and Elton’s looked insignificant compared to the others, and even the big slate statue of Virgin Mary that stood in the middle of the sea of white.
Corporal Seth Seacoal sat upon a small wooden bench, the United States Marine in shambles as he stared at his little brother’s grave. “Elton. I love you. I fuckin’ love you.” Seth mumbled under his breath. The corporal took another swig of British whisky from the small silver flask that was filled with the alcohol. Seth was drunk. It was not that hard to tell. His face was bright red, his motions were awkward and uncoordinated. His speech was slurred, and the people walking along the sidewalks could easily see that he was intoxicated. They looked at him like he was some sort of abomination, and then continued with there civilian lives. Seth didn’t even notice them, he just took more sips from his flask and cried.
Why? Why had all this happened to Seth? After storming several islands in the Pacific, Seth had been promoted to Corporal. But right after, Elton was killed. He was shot in Africa, under the command of some other corporal. He had been wounded first, and then shot dead. Seth had been transferred to the US Army to fill Elton’s spot, and it had all gone downhill from there. He didn’t want to think about it. He just cried more.
Current Time: 1500
Weather Conditions: A fresh spring rain cascades down
A crude white cross was all that was left of Private Elton Seacoal. Elton’s helmet hung on the top of the stake, a bullet hole going directly through the thin steel. A small collection of daffodils and other spring flowers was thrown on the muddy grass at the base of the grave, and an old photograph of Elton, Seth, and their parents rested on top of the flowers, as if to use them as a pillow. At least two hundred other white graves were placed around the big churchyard, and Elton’s looked insignificant compared to the others, and even the big slate statue of Virgin Mary that stood in the middle of the sea of white.
Corporal Seth Seacoal sat upon a small wooden bench, the United States Marine in shambles as he stared at his little brother’s grave. “Elton. I love you. I fuckin’ love you.” Seth mumbled under his breath. The corporal took another swig of British whisky from the small silver flask that was filled with the alcohol. Seth was drunk. It was not that hard to tell. His face was bright red, his motions were awkward and uncoordinated. His speech was slurred, and the people walking along the sidewalks could easily see that he was intoxicated. They looked at him like he was some sort of abomination, and then continued with there civilian lives. Seth didn’t even notice them, he just took more sips from his flask and cried.
Why? Why had all this happened to Seth? After storming several islands in the Pacific, Seth had been promoted to Corporal. But right after, Elton was killed. He was shot in Africa, under the command of some other corporal. He had been wounded first, and then shot dead. Seth had been transferred to the US Army to fill Elton’s spot, and it had all gone downhill from there. He didn’t want to think about it. He just cried more.
