In Which We Stand Side By Side and Watch It All Burn (Part Three)
by Holly Rose Scott
[this is a four part series–
read In Which We Stand Side By Side and Watch It All Burn from the beginning]
Part Three
The air is thick with smoke and dust as the sky lights up, an orange glow flashing over the valley below. The sniper and the sergeant stand on the ridge, their silhouettes hidden among the rocks as they watch the airstrike unfold.
Wait, we’ve been here before, haven’t we?
Explosions ripple through the valley, echoing like thunder, sending up pillars of flame that pierce the darkening sky.
The sniper rests his rifle on his knee, but his eyes aren’t on his scope; they’re fixed somewhere beyond the flames, somewhere past the twisting shadows. He speaks up, voice barely audible over the distant roar of destruction.
“Can we talk about something else?”
The sergeant doesn’t look away from the burning horizon. His hands are tense, gripping the straps on his gear as he watches the village below disappear in fire and smoke. “Now’s not the time.”
The sniper shifts, his gaze dropping to the ground, his jaw tight. “I mean it. I don’t want to watch… this. Let’s talk about something else. Anything else.”
The sergeant glances at him, a shadow of impatience in his eyes. “We’re here to observe. You know that.”
The sniper doesn’t respond, and the silence stretches between them, broken only by the distant blasts and the crumbling of buildings collapsing into dust.
Finally, the sergeant speaks again, his tone sharp but hushed. “Is this what you meant when you said you ‘didn’t feel it anymore’?” He pauses, watching the sniper’s reaction. “Is this what you were talking about?”
The sniper’s eyes flick up, a strange, hollow glint in them. “It’s not just that I don’t feel it,” he murmurs. “It’s that… I don’t even want to. I don’t want to feel anything about this.” He gestures toward the wreckage below, his voice detached, cold. “I used to care. Used to think about the people… what was left behind. But now? It’s just noise. Ash. Shadows that mean nothing.”
The sergeant narrows his gaze, studying the sniper’s face as if trying to find something buried within him, something that still has a spark. “That’s not something you say lightly.”
The sniper shrugs, gaze fixed on the flames licking through the remains of what was once a village. “Maybe not. But I don’t think it’s something you say with meaning, either. Not anymore.” His voice grows quieter, almost a whisper. “That scares me, Sarge. More than this… this destruction. It’s the emptiness that gets me. It’s like I’m becoming the smoke. Fading.”
The sergeant watches him in silence, his face unreadable, lit by the orange flicker of flames. The explosions have quieted now, leaving only the crackling fires and the low rumble of jets retreating into the night.
After a long pause, the sergeant sighs, turning back toward the ridge they came from. “Maybe I understand what you meant,” he says, almost to himself. “Maybe we’re all starting to feel that emptiness.”
The sniper doesn’t answer. He only stands there, motionless, watching the fire burn until it becomes nothing but embers in the dark.
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