Post by Deleted on Apr 15, 2011 0:48:54 GMT
A hand reached out of the darkness, like the clawed fingers of the reaper himself. The fingers closed over him, covering him entirely, suffocating him and crushing him in their grip. He tried to scream for help, but the fingers had turned to liquid and he found himself in the depths of an ocean of dark, blood red wine. He thrashed about, kicking at the liquid as he felt it continue crushing him. Then from the darkness he saw a large wine barrel, rolling towards him, drawing in the wine as it came and he felt himself being dragged towards it, knowing that once he was inside he would be trapped forever.
Sanson woke with a barely restrained cry, this nightmare was not as bad as some of the others, but the empty feeling it left him with was disheartening. He always had nightmares, but sometimes when he woke up, the dream followed him into him into his waking life. Now that he was awake there was nothing else to do but get up. He lifted his head and looked around the barracks. Rows upon rows of empty cots lined the walls, all of them neat and tidy, the whole room was clean and free of rubbish. Inspection day. Sanson had been told that today would be a day of inspections. All the soldiers who where normally out having breakfast or waiting around their cots for orders where out on the parade grounds, running drills and marching in formations, or standing every still while some high ranked officer walked past them and silently (or sometimes not so silently) judged them. Because Sanson was a guest in the camp and not one of the lowly grunts he had been spared from being dragged out of bed at an ungodly hour of the morning, but he knew they would want to look at him at some point. Still, even though he needed the sleep, he would not be able to dose off again. Throwing the covers back and swinging his legs out he got from his bed and stretched.
Sometimes it was good being an Italian pilot, mostly the Germans left him alone whenever he was forced to stay in one of the barracks. Leaving him to rest for a long flight back to where ever it was he was going too. He looked at the other beds before turning to make his own, he pulled the fabric taunt and tucked it under before flipping the pillow over to hide the dint from his head. Smoothing out the surface he compared his bed to the others in the room. It looked just like them; he didn’t want the barracks to get into trouble over him, if that happened he doubted the soldiers would leave him alone then. He collected his small back of personal gear and walked slowly down the rows of beds to the door. There was no point in waiting here for some fuming officer with a stiff neck to come in and start bellowing at him for some reason or another. It always made Sanson smile when an officer shouted about something, he didn’t know German well enough to follow unless they where talking slow enough for him to understand. But the officers never did talk slow, they just shouted and roared and spat and generally ensured everyone had a bad day.
Must be a power thing. Sanson thought to himself, he couldn’t see any other reason for it, maybe they just liked yelling. His training officers never use to scream at him. They yelled of course but only to be heard by a group or over the noise of a propeller. They didn’t need to strike fear into their troops in order to get them into the routine of Obeying Orders. They simply told you what to do, and you did it. Maybe the German soldiers where more stubborn, he had only had conversations with a few Germans, but they had seemed like good enough people. Oh well, maybe this is just the way things are. With that final thought Sanson pushed open the door to the barracks and stepped out into the camp to see what the day would bring him.
Sanson woke with a barely restrained cry, this nightmare was not as bad as some of the others, but the empty feeling it left him with was disheartening. He always had nightmares, but sometimes when he woke up, the dream followed him into him into his waking life. Now that he was awake there was nothing else to do but get up. He lifted his head and looked around the barracks. Rows upon rows of empty cots lined the walls, all of them neat and tidy, the whole room was clean and free of rubbish. Inspection day. Sanson had been told that today would be a day of inspections. All the soldiers who where normally out having breakfast or waiting around their cots for orders where out on the parade grounds, running drills and marching in formations, or standing every still while some high ranked officer walked past them and silently (or sometimes not so silently) judged them. Because Sanson was a guest in the camp and not one of the lowly grunts he had been spared from being dragged out of bed at an ungodly hour of the morning, but he knew they would want to look at him at some point. Still, even though he needed the sleep, he would not be able to dose off again. Throwing the covers back and swinging his legs out he got from his bed and stretched.
Sometimes it was good being an Italian pilot, mostly the Germans left him alone whenever he was forced to stay in one of the barracks. Leaving him to rest for a long flight back to where ever it was he was going too. He looked at the other beds before turning to make his own, he pulled the fabric taunt and tucked it under before flipping the pillow over to hide the dint from his head. Smoothing out the surface he compared his bed to the others in the room. It looked just like them; he didn’t want the barracks to get into trouble over him, if that happened he doubted the soldiers would leave him alone then. He collected his small back of personal gear and walked slowly down the rows of beds to the door. There was no point in waiting here for some fuming officer with a stiff neck to come in and start bellowing at him for some reason or another. It always made Sanson smile when an officer shouted about something, he didn’t know German well enough to follow unless they where talking slow enough for him to understand. But the officers never did talk slow, they just shouted and roared and spat and generally ensured everyone had a bad day.
Must be a power thing. Sanson thought to himself, he couldn’t see any other reason for it, maybe they just liked yelling. His training officers never use to scream at him. They yelled of course but only to be heard by a group or over the noise of a propeller. They didn’t need to strike fear into their troops in order to get them into the routine of Obeying Orders. They simply told you what to do, and you did it. Maybe the German soldiers where more stubborn, he had only had conversations with a few Germans, but they had seemed like good enough people. Oh well, maybe this is just the way things are. With that final thought Sanson pushed open the door to the barracks and stepped out into the camp to see what the day would bring him.