06-Mar-2005
Title: Hypermnesia
Author: Mookie
Pairing: technically, none
Rating: PG
Warnings: rambly, vaguely implied shonen ai if you squint real hard
Notes: written for GW500 challenge #63 - "forgotten"
There's a saying that those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it. That doesn't speak too highly of the human race as a whole.
A long time ago, before OZ and the Alliance, before the colonies, and before mobile suits, there were soldiers. In every war, they were looked on by some as heroes and by others as villains. To many people, a soldier had no mind of his own, no free will, no beliefs other than those handed to him from the ranks above.
I dust off the monument before me, with all the names engraved on it. It seems fitting that the wall commemorating forgotten soldiers was bombed in the last war and that half the list disintegrated, like God himself smote the names of the offenders lest future generations strive to emulate a group of mindless drones.
A long time ago, there were soldiers whose existence was known by those who went into combat with them and by very few outside.
Those forgotten soldiers had four legs.
I remember the day I was told about war dogs. I'd assumed it was military vernacular, something akin to an old sea dog. I was wrong.
Some of the names have bits of gravel hopelessly embedded in the letters. I scrape at one with my thumbnail but barely scratch the surface, so deeply entrenched is it.
Dogs trained for combat had advantages over their human companions. They were faster and lower to the ground - all the better to dodge bullets. They served as messengers and scouts and were trained to work silently.
They were never intended to be pets. They were trained to respond to one handler. All orders come from one man, and the canine's trust was to lie with his handler and no one else. Interference from others, well intentioned as it may have been, caused his performance to suffer, rendering him unreliable.
I've been here long enough. There's nothing more to see. I'm not even sure why I came here. This war was over long before I was born and I sure don't feel any kinship to any of these forgotten soldiers.
I glance at my watch. If I want to make my flight, I'll need to leave now.
It isn't until I'm seated in an uncomfortably cramped coach section that I realize I take flying on a commercial shuttle for granted nowadays. It seems like a lifetime ago that I used to fly them myself.
It seems like my entire existence before this point belonged to someone else.
I try to stretch out my legs only to bump my knee against the back of the seat in front of me. Fortunately it's empty. I have no desire to argue with a complete stranger just because the flight is going far too slowly for my liking.
It's only natural that we want to leave our mark on the world before we go. Not necessarily something that carries our name, but something that will live on after we die. Something that will benefit our race for generations to come.
I'm too old to care anymore. History will repeat itself long after I'm gone.
I twist to look behind me and am relieved that there is no one there. I recline my seat as much as it allows me and turn to look out the window.
I remember the day I was told about war dogs. I'd thought at the time it would be nice to have worked with one, only I knew that I'd never be able to treat one the way I should.
I leaned toward the window when I saw the earth as it grew larger.
I worked with a war dog and never knew it. I'm looking forward to seeing him again. It's been a long time.
I'm not sure if I'll tell Heero about this little epiphany when I see him, which, according to my watch and the captain's announcement, should be in about twenty minutes. I find myself gripping the arms of the chair tightly and force myself to relax. I remind myself that I'm too old to care if I've left my mark. I don't know what I'm going to say when I see him, but I'll think of something.
I'll tell you one thing, though. If Heero cocks his head to one side, I won't be able to stop myself from ruffling his hair with my fingers.
When I see him in the shuttle port, I change my mind.
I think I'll do it anyway.
The End
(:./mookie/hyper)
