Mika Kogo AU drabble
Mika gazed toward the clock above her desk. The pale purple face showed a quarter till four, Mika exhaled slowly. She watched the maroon second hand tick away the moments that she had. Mika turned back to her computer finishing the last sentence in her paragraph her fingers lingering at the keys. She worked her long sleek black hair into a bun with a trail and looked at the time again. Five till it silently told her as she fastened her her tan rain jacket and took her usual umbrella in her long dainty fingers. Moments later the fall of their footsteps on the wet stone path reverberated softly through the flourishing park. The rain landing on her umbrella vibrated and echoed in her ears and she soundlessly moved along the freshly cut grass. Mika slipped around the corner and her heart ached as it always did for the last few months at precisely four twenty everyday. Sitting on top of the hill, overlooking the parks radiant garden, and it’s shimmering lily pond that wound around the park like a child making his own path. She closed her eyes feeling the damp but solid bench beneath her. She breathed in, the sharp crisp March air filled her lungs. The petite girl who had become a woman too soon sat in silence watching a lone duck dipping in the rippling water searching for food. Even though her hands remained empty, she could feel the ceaseless looming weight in her pocket. A blue letter and a medal. Mika didn’t have to search for the words to easily remember what they said, they just kept floating around in her mind.
We regret to inform you… died in action… December 24th, Lt. Peter J. Savage.
A blue letter and a medal honoring the soldier who sacrificed his own life to save a child caught in the line of fire.. The rains pounding tamed to a melancholy mist repressing all below her bench, and her hill, in white. Back in the pressing dark of her home, a light radiated out from the worn computer, it still showing the tireless hours of work that the lonely author undertook.
A Story of War
Written by Mika K. Savage
The steady flash of the I bar stayed waiting to move on with the story. And it would, sometimes it would move fast, and others slow, and often doubled back by a mistake or a new problem. But eventually its story was told and retold and experienced by those who know, and those who can only experience loss by reading it.