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@stephie @theshadow @keilah-h @highscribeofaetherium @whalekeeper @savannah_grace2009 @rae @linus-smallprint @grcr @loopylin @anyone else I couldn’t think of!
Hello!
Happy 4th of July everyone!
Man is born for the fight, to be forged and molded into a sharper, finer, stronger image of God
Ahhhh!! I decided to go back to the beginning and scroll through all of the pages to find more about Riker and Leon, because I was intrigued. OH MY GOODNESS!!!! Ahh, I have to know more! I weeded through 100 pages and I need all the story! Please get this published, and if you have, tell me where to buy it!! I love what I’ve seen of Reuben and Riker so far, though something makes me think that something bad is gonna happen with Riker…………… i want all the story now! *throws mini tantrum*
It’s so stinkin good girl!
Man is born for the fight, to be forged and molded into a sharper, finer, stronger image of God
@savannah_grace2009 I know right??
Even I’m guilty of it.
- Tech was turned to a cyborg and would’ve been brainwashed into killing his friends, Winter Soldier style, if he hadn’t been rescued.
- Crosshair–his brother–nearly froze solid in a mission gone wrong, and then was subjected to torture for months. He also had the only people who understood him ripped away from him.
- Huntress nearly lost both her twin brother and the love of her life in the span of two or three days.
- Sniper–Huntress’s aforementioned love interest–bled to effective death before being revived by his friend’s quick thinking and crazy idea. (These two are from a separate story than the first two.)
- Rinzler (y’all haven’t heard much of him, I don’t talk much about his story, but he’s awesome) was basically orphaned. On top of that, the oppressive regime he lived under was specifically targeting him because he’s a hybrid of the very species they tried to drive to extinction.
- You name the trauma, I’ve written a Warrior Cats fanfic with a character who’s gone through it. (I wrote SO MANY OF THOSE back in the day. They all tie into one main universe, too, which is cool.)
While I DO write fanfics and thus aren’t responsible for everything that happens to the charries (for example, I didn’t come up with Crosshair’s or Sniper’s traumatic events), I’ve done a lot.
"When in doubt, eat cheese crackers."-me to my charries who don't even know about cheese crackers
Hey, I have a rough draft I decided to settle down and rewrite. I was wondering if anyone wanted to read the prologue and tell me what they think? Just for fun. Not like serious critiques or something. More like what y’all do just sharing scenes.
Man is born for the fight, to be forged and molded into a sharper, finer, stronger image of God
I would love to! I don’t know if I’ll have much time but I’ll try!
Lukas&Livia
#Lalbert
Sef&Chase
#HOTTOLINE
LEFSE FOREVER!!!!!! <333Awesome!! I’ll tag a few more of you too.
@stephie @theshadow @keilah-h @highscribeofaetherium @whalekeeper @rae @linus-smallprint @grcr @loopylin @freed_and_redeemedOK all, how is this for a story starter? I want to honestly know if it catches y’all attention.
Prologue
7/10/2065
Night had fallen over the capital city long ago, but–– unlike our cities that never sleep–– all was deathly silent. No cars were on the roads, no lights shown in the houses. All the stores and business buildings were locked tight, and the restaurants had long since shut their doors. In allies or dark streets, sleek black cars lay like predators, their drivers ready and waiting to pounce on anything that broke the strict law of curfew. After the last election, everything had changed drastically, and for the new leaders to keep their hold on power, they needed to control the people completely.
In the capital building, lights chased away the darkness behind thickly curtained windows. In one large room, a meeting was being held. The room was large with a high ceiling and dark wood walls. The black marble floors reflected pools of dim light from the mounted light-fixtures on the wall. A long wooden table graced the center of the room, and around it sat a counsel of scheming men. These were the new leaders of the country, and on this night, in this very room, the lives of thousands would be changed forever.
“We have been waiting too long to lose it,” remarked one of the men, with a face like a ferret.
“We will not lose anything. We will only gain,” remarked the Chancellor, leaning back in his chair at the head of the table.
“We have barely gotten our hands on the rains and already several pockets or rebellion have broken out all over the country,” remarked another man with a high pitched tone to his voice.
“He’s right,” agreed ferret face. “You should hear some of the calls we’ve tapped and see the email and texts we’ve read.”
“Oh it’s more then that,” interrupted a third man. “It’s everywhere. Graffiti, articles, videos, posts, blogs… the people don’t like it.”
“They don’t have to like it,” replied the Chancellor, easily.
“What if there’s rebellion on the inside? How do we know that we got all our men in and there’s out?” asked the whiny-voiced man.
The Chancellor rose and held out his hands. “Peace, gentlemen.”
The room fell silent, and all eyes turned on him.
“I believe it is now time to disclose the extent of our plan,” smiled the Chancellor. He nodded to the man sitting at his right, who had not spoken the whole time.
The man rose and flipped open a portfolio in front of him. He picked up a handful of papers and handed one to the man on his right, motioning him to pass the stack on. when the papers had been dispersed, the man cleared his throat and adjusted the glasses perched on his nose. “Gentleman, the first order of business before us is to lay out the exact extent of our power. Over many years we have slowly infiltrated the government of this nation with our men. They have said what needed saying, and voted for what the people wanted. They spoke and acted the way the citizens wanted, conforming to their every wish. Because of this, they have, for the most part, held a permanent office here. The election a few months ago did nothing but flip the switch to start the waiting machine. We completely hold this government, and all opposed to our plans have been carefully weeded out by all means available. We are secure, and nothing threatens us.”
“Nothing but the tricked people,” remarked Ferret.
“Ah, the people,” smiled the man. He sniffed and adjusted his glasses again. “What are the people? They belong to us, and they will do as we say. We control all platforms that have given them a voice. It is now time that we take that voice. The rebellions will be easily destroyed without conflict. They are strong because they are widespread over the country. It is time to close them off.”
“How do you plan on doing this?” demanded one man.
The speaker motioned to the papers on the table. “Before you is the rough outline of our new country. The seven prominent cities listed before you will be expanded, and all other towns and cities folded into them. Theses cities will then be walled off in seven districts. The people will be divided and placed within the districts. After that, they will have no contact with the outside world. We will all means of communication, entertainment, news, and teaching. We will control ever platform and ever website. Only what we wish will be said. Any books, movies, CDs, pictures, letters, or anything that in the least way suggested something that we don’t agree with will be confiscated and destroyed. The press, media, books, and films will all be under our control. Every call will be listened to, every Email, text message, or letter, read. Nothing will escape our eyes. From the child’s first reader down to the last newspaper, ever theater and every streaming platform, every advertisement and every billboard, it will all be pressed into the service of our government. We will continue to feed them with our message until the dangerous prayer of these few rebels crying, “Lord set us free!” is transformed into worship of our cause.”
“And how do you plan on keeping track of the people?” one man questioned.
“ID cards. It will be the simplest thing, really. Without an ID you will not be able to buy or sell anything, get in or out of work, enter or leave any building, drive vehicles, attend schools. None of it. We will keep careful records of all the people, and anyone who cannot show an ID when commanded at any random time or place, will be dealt with.”
“And what of weapons?” asked another.
“Confiscated. All of them. Anyone caught owning a weapon with face the death penalty. We will issue commands, and those who do not obey will be taken care of. Those who appose us will be silenced. We will keep the people in terror. One miss-step, and it will be a harsh consequences. We will impose heavy taxes so that the people are always in debt to the government, and it will only be by are mercy that they are not punished for their debt.”
“I have a suggestion,” spoke up a tall man with hooded eyes. “Punishment, negative feelings and fear… these are all very powerful. However, these are not things to live and work for. We must offer a positive. Rewards, honor, lower taxes, more privilege, better food. All of this will come from good conduct.”
“Yes, that is wise advice,” agreed the thin-voiced man. “And what is more, we will turn the people against each other. High rewards are offered for those who turn in rebels and report infractions of the laws. We will have the people always watching each other, and then our job of watching them will become much less burdensome. They will be too busy trying to hide from each other and destroy one another, that none of them will ever be able to band together and resist us.”
The Chancellor folded his hands a nodded. “Wise counsel, all of you,” he smiled. He nodded, and his repetitive continued laying out the plan.
“We will control the people, turn them on each other, keep them pushed down by debt, force them to their knees… and we will do all of this with a highly trained force of killers.”
“Now that is dangerous,” put in Ferret. “You cannot trust their own men, and we haven’t enough of our own.”
The speaker glanced at the Chancellor. All followed is example. The Chancellor carefully lit a cigar and then looked at his cohorts. “There was once a great man in history. He set out to accomplish world dominance. He was well on his way, and had control of most of Europe. However, the allies banded against him and his reign ended. However, he understood what many rulers are blind to today. This great man once said, “When an opponent declares, “I will not come over to your side,” I calmly say, “Your child belongs to us already…What are you? You will pass on. Your descendants, however, now stand in the new camp. In a short time they will know nothing else but this new community.” He remarked once, “I begin with the young. We old ones are all used up, but my magnificent youngsters! Are there finer ones anywhere in the world? Look at all these boys, with them I can make a new world.””
The Chancellor smoked in silence for a moment while the men waited, watching his every move. “In the war I spoke of, these Children who had been saturated in his ideology for years made obedient, fanatical soldiers. Eventually, those soldiers became younger and younger, and they began pulling young boys out of school and sending them to the front. These inexperienced children were essentially conscripted for suicide missions—and if they balked, they were executed. After the war, the boys were disbanded. Today, the group is considered proof that a totalitarian state can use children to feed its armies and further its ideologies. We can learn great things from what happened. Children make wonderful little soldiers. They will do what they are told as long as you have trained them to do so from childhood. They do not argue like adults.”
“Then you suggest that we make such a group?” asked one of the men.
“The Hitler Youth of Germany were child’s play. No, no, no. I don’t think we should repeat what they did. I say we do more. Already we have been at work, and a plan has been developed. Every first born child shall be marked and registered. At twelve years of age, they will be conscripted into my army of obedient little killers.”
“Why at the age of twelve?” asked the Ferret.
“They will not be much good before then. At twelve they will be ready to become soldiers. In the years prior, they shall be trained in special Academies. They shall live at home, for then we will not have to waist time and resources caring for them. However, they will keep to themselves, and no forms of affection or endearment will be allowed to be shown to them. They will not be given names either. Names create individual personalities. They will only be called by their government assigned numbers. Any breach of these rules shall be reported to school masters at once, and due punishment handed out to the man, woman, or child who dared to corrupt my soldier. At to
“Why do you suggest the first born?” wondered thin-voice.
“A first born child will essentially feel more vulnerable at first because they have no one to lead them. In this respect, the children will be more easily trained because the will have seen nothing else. Secondly, a first born child has never had an older sibling over them. They are the alpha, and we can use that to create strong soldiers. And lastly, we will be sure of the most children.”
“It seems you have thought through this for some time,” remarked one man.
“Oh indeed. What is more, we have already discussed creating a branch beyond my little super soldiers. They will consist solely of boys between the ages of eighteen and thirty. They will be carefully selected from the ranks, chosen from the boys who show the most promise and have not only adapted to our training, but who have taken on their own cruelty. Theses boys will become my secret police. They will keep the soldiers in check as well as the people. They will be feared by all, and they will have the upmost power. They will be the eyes and ears of the government. They will be known simply as the Agents. For in shadow and vagueness there is terror.”
The men around the room were slowly nodding and a few smiled.
The Chancellor made a signal with his hand, and two men came and passed out glasses. “Let us drink,” said the Chancellor. “A toast to the future, for he who owns the youth controls the world.”
Man is born for the fight, to be forged and molded into a sharper, finer, stronger image of God
@freed_and_redeemed @savannah_grace2009 @jonas @grcr @ellette-giselle @linus-smallprint @loopylin @whalekeeper @theshadow @highscribeofaetherium @idk
Hi. This is a scene from Guardians Angels. Criticism is requested and welcome.
Nahims sword sang as it sailed towards his opponent. The opponent blocked, swinging its second sword towards Nahim from a different direction. Nahim slipped out of the way, pulling back and charging at his opponent again. He ignored the sound of the door to his training pod opening.
“Oh, sorry Nahim, I didn’t realize you were still doing this. You said you’d be taking a break about now.”
Nahim didn’t turn his head, knowing by the voice that his visitor was Mandin. “I guess I lost track of time.”
“Still sword fighting? You’re on the professional level already, why do ya insist on trying to push higher? Especially when you’re on the beginner level with guns.” Mandin fired his hand gun, not to even taking much time to aim. It hit Nahim’s simulated opponent between the eyes. The room’s sound blared, “This is a sword exercise, not a shooting exercise, please change modes.” Nahim lowered his sword and gave Mandin a glare.
Mandin looked contentedly at his work. “I just solved a problem in one second that’d take ya a few minutes. Seriously Nahim, learn how to pull out the firepower every once in a while.”
“You don’t understand, do you? It’s not just because I’m gifted with swords that I keep pursuing them, it’s because I have to be better than Vorgan. Vorgan doesn’t pull out the firepower, he kills all his personal victims by sword because it’s more sporting. I want him to reach the same sporting end.”
Mandin sighed. “Is there any way I can keep ya from doin’ this?”
“No.”
“Ya made up your mind?”
“Yes.”
“Nahim, what’s the point? Sure, killin’ Vorgan would pause the war, but until we kill their Queen, nothin’s over.”
“Revenge, Mandin. That’s the point. Him and ta Wenbor must die for what they’ve done.”
“Sure, they do deserve death, but will getting your revenge bring back your family? Will it lessen your grief? Nahim, revenge is a silly human emotion, it doesn’t fix a thing. Revenge doesn’t do any good, it can’t do a thing for ya. Besides this.” Mandin motioned at Nahim.
“And what’s ‘this’?” Asked Nahim, noticeably irritated.
“An obsession. I have no problem with ya improving your skills, don’t get me wrong, but since when has your obsession with killin’ Vorgan and ta Wenbor improved anythin’ more than your physical state? And even that is effected by the stress of what your doin’. If anythin’ your mental state has only gotten wor–“
“Will you just shut up!” Nahim yelled. “I don’t give a care to what you think about what I’m doing! Everything’s fine, everything’s okay. Any of my problems aren’t caused by this obsession, they’re caused by what Vorgan did to me! What Ehyeh did to me!” Nahim threw down his father’s sword, before storming out of the training pod.
Mandin stood in his wake, his soft eyes flooding with concern. “What’s the matter with him?” Mandin walked over and picked up Nahim’s sword, weighing it in his hand. “I’ll keep this until he asks for it. Right now, I’d rather not speak with him. Oh, Ehyeh, help him. He’s been in this war too long.”
"You need French Toast."
#AnduthForever (hopefully 💕)I’ll post more scenes if I find any good ones.
"You need French Toast."
#AnduthForever (hopefully 💕)i like the story idea, but the tech level sounds to much like our time. I don’t get that sci-fi vibe from it.
Any books, movies, CDs, pictures, letters, or anything that in the least way suggested something that we don’t agree with will be
CD’s should not be mentioned. By 2065, those will be as unheard of in a household as cassette tapes are now.maybe even more rare. Letters and books are okay, but I personally would replace them with digital alternatives. Also, I recommend trying to come up with your own new ideas for what kind of tech we may have in the future. If you have trouble, just look up those vids on Youtube about new concept designs that companies might make into real life in the next decade or so. Those are very helpful to spark imagination.
So far, I’m not buying the 2065 date. It feels like a AU 2024. That’s my biggest criticism.
And don’t be upset when you try to make it feel more in the future, it’s super hard. I’ve been trying to figure out how to write sci-fi for two years and I still don’t get it. I’m barely getting it. It’s really hard. But, I’m sure you’ll figure it out way before I do XD.
We have barely gotten our hands on the rains
Should be ‘reins’ if you mean like those that control a horse.
"You need French Toast."
#AnduthForever (hopefully 💕)Should be ‘reins’ if you mean like those that control a horse.
I’m dying. YES it is. Grammar!!!!!!!! My old nemesis strikes again. 🙁
i like the story idea, but the tech level sounds to much like our time. I don’t get that sci-fi vibe from it.
Ugh. Grrrrrrrr. Ok, Maybe I’ll bring the date down a little. Closer in I guess. I’ll try to fix those few things you mentioned. I did do another book with a sci-fi world that was like full-tilt crazy sci-fi. I didn’t really want that feel for this one. Ya know what. I’m gonna scrap the date. That way I have a little more room and it actually works better with my plot. Thanks for giving me that idea!!
Man is born for the fight, to be forged and molded into a sharper, finer, stronger image of God
woah….
It definitely does sound interesting.
I feel like them talking out all of their plans for a whole chapter/prologue isn’t the most… eye catching… at least in my opinion…
But then again, I feel like this could set up for the following chapter pretty well—especially if the next one jumps right in a bit.
I also agree with Rae, though, that it doesn’t really sound like 2065…
😊
It does sound like an interesting story though! Would love to read more! 😄💛
INTP.
I also agree with Rae, though, that it doesn’t really sound like 2065…
Yeah, well scrap the date. It was an idea that I don’t think will work for the plot outline. So. No date.
I feel like them talking out all of their plans for a whole chapter/prologue isn’t the most… eye catching… at least in my opinion…
But then again, I feel like this could set up for the following chapter pretty well—especially if the next one jumps right in a bit.
Well, I guess you would have to see the next chapter. I’ll post. It!
Man is born for the fight, to be forged and molded into a sharper, finer, stronger image of God
Childhood trauma warning. lol.
Chapter 1.
District 5
A seventeen-year-old boy dressed in a black pull-over hoodie, khaki pants, and a too small pair of shoes, crouched on the roof of a house. It was dark out, and he was well hidden in shadows. His light brown hair was covered by his hood, and his green eyes–– holding a mixture of anger and concentration–– were narrowed as he watched the proceedings below.
A sleek, gun-mettle-grey car was parked outside of a house. A young man in a grey uniform stood at attention near the passenger door. Another of the uniformed men was talking with a man and woman in the doorway of the house. They were nodding, and the woman stepped aside for a little boy. The child was also dressed in a grey uniform, and the straps of a backpack were slung over his shoulders. He saluted the men and then walked with them to the car.
The boy on the roof tightened his hand into a slow fist. This was all too horribly familiar. A screech of tires echoed from his memory. Nonononono! Don’t go there! He closed his eyes, drawing in a slow breath. Then he heard the voice echoing from a memory he had tried to bury long ago. “Your son is dead… accident… it is your duty to provide a child for the army… we know you have another one. We will take him instead…”
He grit his teeth, his breath quickening as he curled in on himself, trying to force the memory to end there. I can’t let it keep going… It was too late. Crashing doors, steps, yelling men, a woman’s scream, fighting, gunshots, another scream. A shot… silence. He was bent over, his arms wrapped about himself and his head pressed against his knees, shaking and beginning to Hyperventilate.
A car door slammed, but this time it was not in the memory.
Get a hold of yourself! Snap out of it! He drew in a shuddering breath and forced himself to hold it before he slowly let it out. Wiping cold sweat from his forehead, he slowly pulled himself up and peered over the roof. The house was dark and quiet, and the only sign of life was the car. It was pulling out of the driveway and onto the street. He clenched his teeth as rage built inside of him. They stole everything from me… I will not let them do that to someone else.
Scrambling up, he slipped over the edge and hung by the gutter a moment. He dropped, landing in a crouch. Then he took off through the dark streets after the lone car, one thought pushing him on. One way or another, this ends tonight.
***
“Jonathan, finish your breakfast!”
Jonathan looked up, his large green eyes filled with a solemn look. “Mama?”
“Hmm?” replied his mother, racing about the kitchen packing lunches.
“When was my brother born?”
“September 14th,” replied his mom, absently.
“That’s tomorrow.”
She winced.
“Can we have a party for him?”
Jonathan’s mom froze. “What do you mean?”
“Well, when it’s my birthday and I turned ten, you gave me sugar in my porridge and we played a game a dinner, and I got some cookies, remember?”
“Yes,” she replied warily.
“Well, can we do that for him?”
“No,” she replied.
“Why not,” asked Jonathan, confusion knitting his brow.
“Because he’s a first born.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means…” she hesitated. “It… uh… well it means that we do things differently with him.”
“You mean like his funny name? Why is his name numbers instead of a name like mine?” continued Jonathan.
“Well… I…”
“And can 314 and I play? Please? Can we play for his birthday mama?”
“No Jonathan, no. There will be no playing with 314,” replied his mother, sharply.
“Why?” asked Jonathan.
“You just can’t.”
“How old is he going to be?” wondered Jonathan.
“Just stop asking so many questions!” cried his mother.
Jonathan shank back, his eyes filling with tears. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
With a slight cry, his mother dropped what she was doing and hurried to his side. She hugged him tightly, nearly smothering him. “I’m so sorry honey, I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”
“It’s okey,” replied Jonathan, his voice muffled by her shirt.
“Everything alright in here, Sara?” asked a voice.
They both looked up to see Jonathan’s father knotting his tie.
“Yes, we’re fine,” replied Sara. She gave Jonathan a squeeze and then finished packing up the lunches.
Donovan Estes messed up his son’ hair with a playful hand and exchanged a look with his wife. She glanced at Jonathan, and Don nodded, knowing that the questions they had been dreading had begun again. He hoped they could steer them off as before. Keeping a tiny shard Jonathan’s innocence in a world that was trying to destroy it had become a desperate fight for Don and his wife.
Jonathan looked up at his father. “Daddy, I got all one hundreds in school this week,” he said proudly.
“Good! I’m so proud of you,” replied Don. Inwardly he breathed a prayer of thanks. It was just last month when he had been called to the school for a discussion. The “little chat” had quickly turned into an interrogation, all of the fuss being caused by Jonathan’s grade. They had been slightly below straight A, but that was apparently not allowed.
Even now, snatches of the conversation drifted into his memory. “Are you completely loyal, Mr. Estes?” “Yes sir, of course sir.” “I’m not so sure… your son’s grades lead to suspicion. Have you been tampering with his education?” “No, I have no idea what he is being taught here, nor what his homework looks like. As is the law.” “It’s been a while since you reported an infraction of rules by one of your co-workers. And never have you reported anything worthy of the death penalty.” “What does this have to do with my son’s education?” “It has to do with your loyalty, Mr. Estes.” “Sir I whole heartedly stand behind all that you do.” “Your other son, 314, he has not shown exceptional promise either.” “I had no idea. I haven’t spoken to him at all this month.” “Hmm, that may be. Just know this, Mr. Estes, we are watching you.”
Don gripped Jonathan’s shoulder tightly, and the boy squirmed away, pushing back in hopes of a wrestling match. Don looked down at the innocent face with it’s silly grin, and his eyes felt hot.
Steps sounded on the stairs, and Don glanced toward the hall. A tall, slender boy came into view. His hair was combed down perfectly flat, and his school uniform was immaculate. He carried himself like a soldier already. As the boy walked passed the kitchen he hesitated a moment. He was looking at something passed Don, and his face soften slightly, losing it’s uniform mask for a brief moment. He flashed a V with his fingers, and Don quickly glanced back. Jonathan was looking straight at his older brother, and was just curling his fingers down from his own V. Don looked back at his oldest son, and the boy seemed to notice him for the first time. A look of fright flitted across his face, but was gone in an instant. He gave Don a curt nod, and then turned and strode down the hall.
Don looked back at Jonathan and saw he was waving with his fingers. The boy seemed to feel Don’s eyes for he looked up, pulling his hand to his chest as if to hide it. Don watched him for a long moment. Somehow, Jonathan had enough contact with his brother for them to create a shared hand signal. But how? I haven’t let the boys near each other! If anyone finds out about this… Don glanced at his wife, but she was busy and hadn’t noticed a thing.
Something was nagging at the back of his mind. What was that hand signal anyways? He had seen it before. Then a faint memory came to him of his grandfather defiantly flashing the V sign while his grandmother scolded him. One day his grandfather had grabbed him by the shoulder. “You see this boy? These two fingers make a V. V is for Victory. That signal came from a very, very old war when men stood up and died for what was right. Don’t you ever forget it.”
Don cringed at the memory. But his Grandfather was dead. So how… then he knew. One late evening, when 314 was only seven, Grandfather had been at the house when he came home from school. He had taken one look at the young soldier-to-be and flashed the V. “Victory,” he had muttered, and winked. Don shook his head slowly. There was no way he could get 314 to stop, and Jonathan would ask too many questions. He would have to let it be and hope no one noticed in the last few days that 314 would be living with them. Don winced. He looked down at Jonathan, who was diligently eating his breakfast, his mop of wavy brown hair spilling over his forehead as he shoveled in his bites. Oh Jonathan, if only you weren’t here, I would fight for your brother. But if I do, they’ll kill you. How can I lose one for the other? How can I chose?
***
Jonathan bounced into the kitchen later that week. “Mommy, I got all one hundreds again!” He stopped short and stared. Sara was leaning against the counter, staring into space as the supper went about boiling over onto the stove with angry hissing. “Mommy!” cried Jonathan.
She jumped. “Oh my shoot!” She rushed to the stove and turned the burner off. Putting her hands on her hips, she stared at dinner. Jonathan came and stood beside her. “It’s all burnt up.” he remarked.
Sara plunged the spoon into the stew and then held it out. Jonathan took a finger-full and licked it. “Yuck!”
“Oh you’re just picky,” scolded Sarah. She jammed her finger into the stew and licked. A wry expression crossed her face and she grabbed the saucepan. Moving to the trash, she dumped out the burned food. “Well… I guess we’ll have rice and canned beans tonight.”
“Yum! I like that,” replied Jonathan.
Sara rubbed a hand over her forehead and tucked a lose wisp of blond hair behind her ear. “I’m glad you’ll be pleased.”
“Mommy, isn’t today 314’s birthday?”
“Jonathan, go do your homework,” his mother replied.
Jonathan nodded and walked out of the kitchen. He marched up the stairs and flopped onto his bed. He tugged out his homework sheets and a pencil. Jonathan didn’t know how long he had been up there when he heard steps. He knew they were 314’s, and he sat up excitedly. His brother would be eating alone, as was the rule. In fact, he probably had his dinner with him right now. Jonathan waited until his brother’s bedroom door shut. Then, he tapped on the wall. A moment later, he heard the bed squeak on the other side of the wall, and there was an answering tap. Jonathan pulled his pillow away from the wall and lay on it. He leaned close and put his mouth against the tiny hole in the wall. “You there?”
“Course I am,” came the whispered reply.
“How was school?”
“Fine. How about you?”
“I got all One Hundreds! Again!” whispered Jonathan, excitedly.
“Well done,” replied his brother’s voice.
Jonathan beamed. “314?”
“I told you not to call me that.”.
“Oh, sorry. What was it I was supposed to call you?”
“Call me… I don’t know. Nothing I guess.”
“Well, uh… brother… did you do any special training again?”
“No, just a lot of tests.”
“It’s your birthday today. How old are you?”
There was no reply.
Jonathan pressed his face against the wall. “314? brother? Buddy? You still there?”
“I’m here,” came a whisper so quiet he could barely hear it.
“What’s wrong? Did they yell at you again today?” asked Jonathan. He clenched his fists. “If they did, I’ll… I’ll––”
“It’s not that.”
Jonathan paused. “What’s wrong?”
“Jonathan, I’m twelve today.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means…” his brother’s voice wavered. “It means I have to go away now.”
“Go away? For how long?” asked Jonathan.
There was along silence. Finally, his brother whispered, “Forever.”
Jonathan froze, the word driving into him like a knife. “No! No, you can’t go away forever!” he gasped.
“Jonathan shhhh! Hush!”
Tears sprang to Jonathan’s eyes. “You can’t go! I need you, you can’t leave me alone!”
“Jonathan!” hissed his brother’s frantic voice. “If you don’t be quiet mom’ll make you come down!”
Jonathan pressed his cheek against the wall and choked down his sobs.
“Jonathan, no matter what happens, I promise I’ll never forget you,” whispered his brother. “Someday, I’ll find you again. I promise.”
“How?”
“I don’t know… but I will. Jonathan, do you remember what the V means?”
“Victory,” managed Jonathan.
“And Victory means the overcoming of an enemy and achieving the objective in a struggle against all odds and difficulties,” whispered his brother. “I will find you.”
Jonathan closed his eyes and nodded. “I trust you,” he breathed.
***
Jonathan sat alone in the darkness. His mother and father had sent him to bed early as soon as dinner was over. Now he at on his bed in the darkness. Suddenly, lights flashed outside the window. Jonathan scrambled up and hurried across the floor to the curtain. He opened it and peaked out. A sleek, gun-mettle-grey care was just pulling into the drive. Two men got out and walked up to the house. A moment later, there was a knock on the door. Jonathan listened to the muffled conversation below. Then, he heard steps on the stairs. Jonathan dove back in bed and hid under the blankest. He did not want those men to find him.
The steps passed by his door and there was a sharp knock. A moment later, his brother’s door opened.
“314, are you ready to report for duty?” demanded a harsh voice.
“Yes sir,” was the stiff reply.
A moment later, two sets of steps descended the stairs.
Jonathan crawled out of bed and slipped to the window. He peeked out and saw his brother down below. 314 climbed into the back seat of the car, and the two young men got in. the car pulled out of the driveway. Jonathan could see his brother looking out of the car window. He saw Jonathan, and raised his fingers in a V. Jonathan raised his own in the darkness, and then the car was gone.
Jonathan leaned his head against the window and cried softly, his fingers still clenched defiantly in a V.
V for Victory.
Man is born for the fight, to be forged and molded into a sharper, finer, stronger image of God
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