Off to War (1100 Words)

The clock always ticks slower right before those big, pivotal, moments of life. In these moments everyone has their own rites and rituals.

John sat, with his head bowed, in front of his locker. His hands gently caressed the golden cross at the end of his rosary and his lips moved silently. He was begging to his true Father to bring him through, to keep him safe, and to make him proud of the man he would be out there. He asked for his Father to make him strong, to allow him to handle the burdens that would be place on his shoulders. John only wanted to follow the path that was laid out before him and that was it.

Jayden was on the other side of the room, sitting on the stool in front of his locker. His eyes were closed and massive headphones covered his ears. The world was shut out of his thoughts as he listened to music. His head bobbed and his heart picked up its pace while his mind prepared for what he was going to face. He didn’t think about exactly instances of what he would be asked to do, knowing that it would all fall into place as long as he was ready to put everything he had out there. As long as he pushed himself to the limits, he would be fine.

Stephan lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He shut out the noises that were around him. His mind was like a movie theater as memories of his family ran through it. He would always think about his older brother, he would replay the horrible spectacle he had seen. They were out in the street playing basketball—his older brother was always so much better than he was—when a slowly driving car full of gang bangers rolled up and stuck the barrel of a gun out of the window. His brother bleed to death there on the street as Stephan held him. This, this right now, was for his brother.

Mark stood next to an office pressing a cellphone to his ear. He talked to his dad. He always talked to his dad when he was just about ready. The man reminded him of what he needed to do, what was at stake, and why he was there. In calm words that Mark had heard over and over in his life, he was getting his mental into the proper order for what was to come.

Isaac, well, he was a break in the seriousness. He was the one who had a bowl of Fruit Loops sitting in his lap, in front of his locker. He watched the scene unfold, impressed by his comrades. Whatever it takes for them to be their best out there…

Pacing across the room, walking past everyone else was Ray. He looked down at the floor as he walked, quiet words came from his mouth but no one could understand them. His steps were solid and quick. Ray blazed a path back and forth, back and forth; he would wear that path into the floor soon.

Ed looked over a piece of paper, a letter that he just couldn’t let go of. His high school sweetheart had left him using that letter. In it she told him that his life was just a game, it was unimportant and she couldn’t be with a man who would never be anything. Ed would show her, he would be something that every woman wanted to be with. When she saw him again she would be crying and embarrassed, she would beg to have him back. But he would break her heart like she broke his, after today she would be the one who was nothing compared to him.

Domique and Andre could be seen through a window. The medical staff was inspecting their bodies one last time, tape was being tightened while cream was rubbed on joints to reduce pain and swelling. Their bodies were machines that wanted to break down, but the mechanics prepared them for another go. They stared silently off into space as they were oiled and greased up.

Antawn talked to an older man who was using a white board to explain the positions and jobs of each and every man that would be on the battlefield with him. Antawn listened to a final reminder of what he needed to focus on. He took mental notes about what the enemy would be trying to do, how they would try to do it, and what he would have to do to counter their counters.

The commotion that tried to over shadow everyone’s peaceful rituals was Derik and Michael, were standing face to face, chests bumping against each other, shouting. ‘Dey can’t touch us!’, ‘No way!’, ‘Dey got nuttin!’, ’Nuttin!’, ‘Were gonna burry dem out der!’, ‘Hell yeah we are!’, ‘Were gonna kill ‘em, kill ‘em all!’ The yelling continued, in part to psych themselves up, in part to force them to believe that the outcome they wanted to occur was the only one that could occur.

In the main office sat the man that ran the whole operation. He was their general and chief, the one who had built the plan that they would use to take down their adversary. He was the one who was focused on training these boys for what they would need to do to be successful. The chief had his own note cards that he was going over, but his eyes didn’t really see what he had written down. Instead his mind was clouded by memories of every time he had sent boys out there, he knew the elation that they all felt when they came back victorious, without a scratch on them. But he also remembered the times he had sent other’s, trained just as well, prepared exactly as his crew was now, and they quite simply got slaughtered. He let a breath out, this wasn’t going to be one of those times, his boys might be over matched, but his expertise would give them the advantage.

They funneled out of the room single file. Yelling and screaming assaulted them, hands reached out to brush the shoulders of these gods as they continued through the tunnel. The army stepped out onto the basketball court to a thunderous roar of hope, a home crowd in need of a win.

The embedded reporter, the locker room journalist, who followed the basketball team and watched the wars they fought in every other night considered writing a column about how society takes sports just a tad too seriously. It was just a consideration, a silent moment of self-realization that he never took action on because he figured it was a bad idea to attack the goose that gave him a golden egg.