On guard… (WoD)

Justin sighs. It was going to be a long two weeks.

It had seemed like a good idea at first. The flowers in Hydroponics were beautiful, big blooms of gladiolus and lush orchids, and the vibrant colors had brought a lump to his throat. He hadn’t even meant to be there; he’d wandered down into the Lab Complex looking for his frontline supervisor so he could ask for a copy of the new roster when the sights and smells of growing things had caught his attention. He’d drifted down aisle after aisle, overwhelmed by the blossoming life around him, until the vivid colors of the floral aisles had captured him. He’d stood for a few minutes, soaking it all in, letting the smells and colors wash over him.

Then the idea struck. Wouldn’t she like some of these? Not just to see, but to have, in her room. He could bring a little bit of what he was feeling now to someone who, he knew on an instinctual level, hadn’t felt anything like that since the world fell down. The image of her smiling had brought him enough courage to pick the first blossom from its leafy stem, and he had collected quite a few before reason returned. He couldn’t take them ALL, he thought. He’d stopped there and fled to one of the workrooms in the lab, where he’d covered them with an opaque plastic bag to safely carry them upstairs to his room, where he could arrange them in something.

The whole thing had given him a buoyant sensation he hadn’t felt in ages. Not even before the bombs dropped. He’d ridden that feeling until his frontline supervisor had gotten ahold of him. Seems EVERYWHERE had a camera in this place. He’d earned himself two weeks of double shifts for this stunt and he knew he deserved it. It wasn’t as if there was an infinite amount of flowers these days.

Justin runs a hand through his sandy hair as he stands at his post, his M4 resting comfortably in the crook of his elbow as he watches over the medical staff hustling and bustling though the manor house. At least he didn’t have to wear his rad gear in here. It wasn’t as if he was planning on having any kids soon anyway; a little radiation wouldn’t kill him, not yet, at least. The job he had now wasn’t all that different from what he’d done in the Army, but back then there had been a lot more paperwork. And more annoying people. Jake was a pretty undemanding Chief of Security, and his frontline supervisor Billy was an OK guy when he wasn’t going forty kinds of ‘drill sergeant’ on you. If he had to pick the better job, he’d have to pick this one. But why then did he feel so empty all the time? Why did he feel as if he was just drifting through his life, watching as it happened to someone else?

There had never been much remarkable about Justin Elwood. The middle kid with an older sister and a younger one, he’d been the mediator, the middle man, and the cleanup crew when his siblings went postal on each other. He’d done average in school, average in sports(he’d joined the football team just to please his old man, and had done a passable job at it), and average with the girls. None of his teachers remembered him, and, he was sure, neither did his girlfriends. He’d joined the Army out of a desire to do something, ANYTHING, with his life, anything greater than himself. Something he could look back and remark on.

Life in the Army had been much like life in school. He didn’t stand out in any area of skill, drill sergeants and NCO’s forgot his name, and he had been shuffled into S-1 almost as an afterthought. He’d joined the military to help people and ended up shuffling paper and filling out forms. On his reviews they referred to him as reliable and stolid. One CO called him slow-witted and irritable. He’d taken it all as he had his whole life, and contented himself with the knowledge that the least he could do is get his job done and not be a total disappointment to his supervisors.

But why, then, did he feel disappointed? As if he’d failed somewhere along the line and lost something valuable? He shifts his weapon again and tries to think of other things, but an image of himself comes unbidden; an image of a fifty-something man with thinning grey hair, of average height, average intellect, and average accomplishments, standing at a guardpost as he stood now with no one to remember him and nothing to remark upon.

This image terrifies him. He had to keep that image from happening, keep himself from becoming that hopeless man he saw etched in the back of his mind. But what?

Lost in his thoughts, Justin stands at his post, his M4 resting comfortably in the crook of his elbow as the medical staff hurries past on their myriad errands. It was going to be a long two weeks.