If there was a God, we left him in the dusty sands of Titan. Aching and breaking men that we were, toiling away in a war that made less sense as each day passed. But there was a point that we realized that God was in fact, Titan itself.
because only God could be so harsh.
breath gren breath.
he swallowed his own spit and spat it onto the ground. he wiped his lips in disgust and brushed the dust out of his hair. he should cut it. he wondered why he kept it. vanity? he dug his heels into the ground and leaned back against the wall of rock. a short pit stop and then they will drag their bodies across the sand for another battle. his rifle bit into his shoulder and he let it rest on the ground. he felt gritty and the sand in his eyes refused to leave.
breath gren breath, he told himself. he shouldn't forget that. if he focused on the little details, he won't collapse. no time to be spent thinking about warm barstools and the sax curving into his chest like a lover. the drums were beating and if he did not breath, he would die and fade as prettily as a song on the wasteland.
just keep breathing, vicious had told him and the eyes that bore into him were unglamourous and ugly, but never did it cease to inspire.
if vicious can keep breathing, so could gren.
you killed a scorpion for me, gren said softly, touched.
and vicious replied, i killed a scorpion. i never said it was for you.
circles in his back. the hands were rough and abrasive. vicious. like his namesake. slow unyielding circles that would break into burning suns. sometimes he would look back and those ugly glaring eyes would stare onwards as if seeing something beyond time. gren bit his lip as vicious led him around the dust, those hands peeling away the raw skin. gren remembered crying.
but really it was just a dusty trail on his cheek.
desert nights were to be feared more than desert days. it was the cold that got to you, not the heat. men did whatever they could. some even buried themselves in the sand to keep warm. sometimes they simply clung onto each other. it was physically comforting but mentally uncomfortable. gren bore it carefully.
vicious never joined in.
what do you plan to do after titan? gren asked trailing after vicious like a wisp.
vicious actually paused at the question. it takes a few quiet moments without the rattle of gunfire for him to reply.
there are people at home waiting for me, he said.
gren smiled and said that he would like to meet them. vicious let his lips smirk and said that he wouldn't mind that too much.
warm. it wasn't a smile and it wasn't for him, but it felt warm.
when the war burned itself into the ground, gren went to jail for a crime he did not commit. and vicious sent him there. gren thinks of vicious in the dark cell and wonders
was this why he killed a scorpion?
and he goes cold in mind.