Hesistant Strides (Decisive Uncertainty) [Open]
The sand crunched under John's boots, tiny grains working their way up and into the leather and steel crannies. He scowled at the ground as he ran. Sand was damn hard to run on.
He shook his head and pushed on, sweat flicking from the ends of his soaked hair. The heat was getting to him. The sun seemed to be perched right behind his back, reaching out a fiery hand to caress the back of his neck, tickle his ears, drag a couple of fingers over his scalp.
Finishing up with one final burst of speed, John reached down to his belt, grabbing the canteen that hung there. Sure, training to be able to function in dry areas was all well and good. Coming to a stop, John blew the sand off the top of the bottle then twisted the top off. But staving off the feeling of heat and wet closing in around him, guarding against those moments of pure fear when he imagined that he was back in the warren of corridors that haunted his dreams... Well. That was priceless.
Gotta stop with these outdated references. No one gets them anymore.
Wrapping his lips around the opening of the canteen, John allowed himself two gulps and a sip before spinning the cap back on and latching the whole thing to his waist. He huffed out a breath, chest rising and falling as quickly as the blood pulsing through his veins.
The city loomed in front of him like a hastily constructed paradise. John squinted against the blinding bright of the sun. He had a mile and a half walk to get back to the outskirts of the colony.
John walked briskly over to the cluster of red rocks where he'd hidden his gear. He didn't feel comfortable leaving it in the city. In fact, he didn't even feel comfortable when he and his gear where separated by more than a quick run's distance.
You're like a baby. Got your security blanket there, John? Yeah? Who's a good little ex-marine. You are! You are!
He shook his head, squeezing his eyes tight. He knew the usual methods of clearing one's head did little to help his situation but the effort made him feel better. Just ignoring it until it chose to go away was not a plan of action he was willing to take.
Sighing, John threw down his pack. It was too hot to sit in the sun in all his gear, baking away like some large, violent muffin. He peeled off his shirt, tossing it onto the rock to dry. Sinking to the ground, he leaned back against his bag, eyes sliding shut, comfortable in the shade of the rocks.
He shook his head and pushed on, sweat flicking from the ends of his soaked hair. The heat was getting to him. The sun seemed to be perched right behind his back, reaching out a fiery hand to caress the back of his neck, tickle his ears, drag a couple of fingers over his scalp.
Finishing up with one final burst of speed, John reached down to his belt, grabbing the canteen that hung there. Sure, training to be able to function in dry areas was all well and good. Coming to a stop, John blew the sand off the top of the bottle then twisted the top off. But staving off the feeling of heat and wet closing in around him, guarding against those moments of pure fear when he imagined that he was back in the warren of corridors that haunted his dreams... Well. That was priceless.
Gotta stop with these outdated references. No one gets them anymore.
Wrapping his lips around the opening of the canteen, John allowed himself two gulps and a sip before spinning the cap back on and latching the whole thing to his waist. He huffed out a breath, chest rising and falling as quickly as the blood pulsing through his veins.
The city loomed in front of him like a hastily constructed paradise. John squinted against the blinding bright of the sun. He had a mile and a half walk to get back to the outskirts of the colony.
John walked briskly over to the cluster of red rocks where he'd hidden his gear. He didn't feel comfortable leaving it in the city. In fact, he didn't even feel comfortable when he and his gear where separated by more than a quick run's distance.
You're like a baby. Got your security blanket there, John? Yeah? Who's a good little ex-marine. You are! You are!
He shook his head, squeezing his eyes tight. He knew the usual methods of clearing one's head did little to help his situation but the effort made him feel better. Just ignoring it until it chose to go away was not a plan of action he was willing to take.
Sighing, John threw down his pack. It was too hot to sit in the sun in all his gear, baking away like some large, violent muffin. He peeled off his shirt, tossing it onto the rock to dry. Sinking to the ground, he leaned back against his bag, eyes sliding shut, comfortable in the shade of the rocks.