THE Fancy Library

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[fancypost bgcolor=white; border:none; width:300px; height:270px; border-bottom:3px black double; border-right:3px black double; border-left:3px black double;][fancypost bgcolor=transparent; border:none; width:280px; height:auto; font-size:15pt; letter-spacing:1px; color:#000; text-shadow:0px 2px 4px white; text-align:center; margin-top:-20px;][B]OLIVER ROCKWELL[/fancypost]
[fancypost bgcolor=transparent; border:none; width:270px; height:240px; overflow:auto; text-align:justify; color:#000; font-size:8pt; line-height:100%;] “Sir, have you got the time?” Oliver shoved another handful of chips into his mouth and glanced up at Solomon, who was peering out of the open window. Solomon ignored the question. His bulky frame was twisted to what appeared to Oliver as an extremely uncomfortable position, and his index finger was lightly tapping the trigger of the sniper rifle. Just enough pressure to jar the powerful firearm into producing a light tapping noise. Oliver couldn’t see Solomon’s eyes from under the man’s long black hair parted to either side of his face. Oliver swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Have you got the time?” he repeated louder to break the man’s concentration. Solomon didn’t acknowledge Oliver’s words.
Oliver sighed, craning his neck around the corner to follow Solomon’s eyes out the window. His eyes instantly locked onto what Solomon had been following. It was a small girl, perhaps only seven or eight. Her skin stood out in stark contrast to the battlefield her bare feet tread on. She wore a dress as tattered as the ruins around her. Even from a couple hundred feet away Oliver could detect a slight limp in her small gait, and he soon spotted the culprit; hastily cut and bloodied bandages hanging loosely from her leg. But what was the most eye catching was the color of her ratty dress: the forest green of the North.
“Solomon,” Oliver started, turning from the girl to the soldier. Solomon’s finger had stopped its restless and idle tapping and had come to rest on the trigger. “Sh*t, you’re not actually going to shoot, right?” Oliver began to chuckle uneasily. He reached out a hand to pull away the captain’s shoulder but froze as Solomon spoke.
“That child is an enemy. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let it take one more step.” Oliver had seldom heard Solomon speak anything but orders, and this was by far the strongest sentence the man had ever made. Oliver froze. His eyes widened as they landed on Solomon’s finger. Without thinking Oliver leapt forward to tackle his commanding officer.
Within a second the sharp and unmistakable sound of a gunshot rang into the dead air, shattering it with its immensity. Oliver had instinctively shut his eyes for the shot, but now his lids snapped open with horror as he crawled off of Solomon and fell onto his back. “F*cking sh*t!” Oliver gaped at Solomon as the man stood. “Aren’t we just supposed to stay put and just watch? She’s just a kid!”
“Was, just a kid.” Solomon corrected as he brushed off his jacket and shouldered his rifle. He cast a fleeting glance out the open window, then back to Oliver’s ghastly complexion. “Now is not the time for senseless emotions, soldier.” Solomon sneered the last word as he looked down his hooked nose at Oliver. “Due to your insolent screeching like a child, we’ve most likely given up our position and should evacuate immediately. Radio the corporeal and inform him of our move. I'm alerting Garcia and Bailey.” Solomon let his gaze linger on Oliver for another moment before turning and descending down the stairs.
Oliver watched the captain leave the room in horror, then slowly turned to look out the window. Within a second he felt bile rise in his throat and he lurched forward to vomit up the chips he had been eating only a minute earlier. The image of the girl’s bloodied corpse was seared into his mind, her small body crumpled to the ground with her long blonde hair splayed around her. if not for the pool of dark blood seeping from her skull, she might’ve been sleeping. If only things were that simple.
Physically shaking his head as if to rid his memory of the horrid image, Oliver stood and unclipped the small radio from his shoulder. He again wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and began to fiddle with the dials on the radio. He cleared his throat and pressed the small button on the side of the device to make his call. No sooner had Oliver opened his mouth, did the entire building light up around him.
The explosion seemed to be small, only blasting the floor out from under Oliver’s feet, but it was enough to destroy. Oliver felt himself falling, and he reached out blindly before he abruptly crashed into the wreckage of the downstairs. His vision was spotted with bright color as he wheezed to catch the breath that had been knocked from his lungs. Just as quickly smoke filled his lungs and he rolled painstakingly to his knees and vomited again. Oliver scrambled to his feet on the broken floorboards, swaying as he tried to find his footing through his lightheadedness. He needed air! Stumbling through the smoke that filled the room Oliver slammed into a wall. With both hands firmly pressed again his wall he skirted the edge of the room, shutting his eyes and praying for a door or a window, or anything to get out of that hell.
He was on the ground before he realized it, on the sweet, lovely earth outside the building. All thoughts of his fellow soldiers had vanished from his mind as he crawled on along the street. His only goal was to find shelter, to escape the grey skies that challenged a gullible soldier to walk under.
After what seemed like hours panic had cleared enough for a few sensible thoughts to worm their way into Oliver’s mind through the shock and fear. His eyes singled out a small building nestled in between a barber shop and a grocer. An apartment, maybe? It made little difference to Oliver. It wasn't in shambles, the only thing that mattered in that moment. He reached up and grabbed the window sill to pull himself to his feet, and tried the door. Locked.
“F*ck.” Oliver breathed, as panic began to rise in him as his bare hand juggled the knob again. He was too afraid to turn around, to see whatever he was running from. To see if his comrades had made it out of that hell. His flight broke every rule in the book. Instead he grabbed his pistol from his belt and slammed it into the window beside the locked door. Thud. Spidery lines cracked into the soft glass. Thud. The window shattered.
Such a small victory filled Oliver with something as close as hope as someone would find out there. He clumsily climbed through the frame, ignoring the sharp and stinging pain of the glass that scratched at him through his uniform. He collapsed on the other side, his face smashing into the glass covered ground. It mattered little. All he felt was the steady ground beneath his body as his mind slowly succumbed to pure exhaustion and fear. A last thought rose into his mind before he lost consciousness. He managed to mumble it though numb lips. “I’m a f*cking deserter.”[/fancypost]