When I awoke the next morning... [for TM_Redux]
...there's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home...
Unfortunately, it doesn't work like that in real life. You don't just kill the Wicked Witch and then prance off home in your ruby slippers. Sure, when they go to write up their reports, when they go back to the suits in Washington bragging about the successes of the Atlantis expedition it'll all turn into one big noble romp; and everything'll be about how Colonel Sheppard led a daring rescue mission and slew the Wicked Witch of the Wraith or how Atlantis personnel valiantly fought off the Wraith's advance against all odds. And they'll use meaningless expressions like minimal casualties and some damages sustained and possible implications and that's fine, but it's got absolutely nothing to do with the way most of us experience these things.
While the Colonel's out flying suicide runs and Tim and Adam are being cornered by a stampede of Wraith, I'm one of the people sitting at a computer tucked away from all the action trying to figure out a way to get the shield happening or how to restore power in the south-east pier where the enemy are picking off people in the dark or why the transporters have suddenly stopped working because the Wraith have got five guys pinned down in section J16 and the only exit they've got won't open. And it's necessary, and it's scary, and every second that you waste just drags out for an hour, but eventually it just becomes this haze, it's surreal...
Until you wake up the next morning in the infirmary and there's a guy next to you with a swathe of bandages over his chest and a face that looks a hundred years old.
Or you sit up with half a keyboard imprinted in your cheek and you think "hey, I wonder where Fitz's got to?", and then you remember that Fitz is gone; he was killed trying to protect us, the scientists and the command staff, from a patrol of advancing Wraith soliders.
Or you step out onto the balcony, yawning and complaining that nobody in the civil world gets up this early and you see the black smoke rising from one of the still-burning towers.
Or you wander into the mess for breakfast and you wonder when the last time was that you saw the place this empty.
And somebody says "we won", and later there are medals and commendations and promotions and someone tells the story of some brave people who saved the world or whatever... But all of that seems kinda hollow when you wake up the next morning and smell the smoke.
It's a big city and a small expedition. Every empty seat is conspicuous.
Unfortunately, it doesn't work like that in real life. You don't just kill the Wicked Witch and then prance off home in your ruby slippers. Sure, when they go to write up their reports, when they go back to the suits in Washington bragging about the successes of the Atlantis expedition it'll all turn into one big noble romp; and everything'll be about how Colonel Sheppard led a daring rescue mission and slew the Wicked Witch of the Wraith or how Atlantis personnel valiantly fought off the Wraith's advance against all odds. And they'll use meaningless expressions like minimal casualties and some damages sustained and possible implications and that's fine, but it's got absolutely nothing to do with the way most of us experience these things.
While the Colonel's out flying suicide runs and Tim and Adam are being cornered by a stampede of Wraith, I'm one of the people sitting at a computer tucked away from all the action trying to figure out a way to get the shield happening or how to restore power in the south-east pier where the enemy are picking off people in the dark or why the transporters have suddenly stopped working because the Wraith have got five guys pinned down in section J16 and the only exit they've got won't open. And it's necessary, and it's scary, and every second that you waste just drags out for an hour, but eventually it just becomes this haze, it's surreal...
Until you wake up the next morning in the infirmary and there's a guy next to you with a swathe of bandages over his chest and a face that looks a hundred years old.
Or you sit up with half a keyboard imprinted in your cheek and you think "hey, I wonder where Fitz's got to?", and then you remember that Fitz is gone; he was killed trying to protect us, the scientists and the command staff, from a patrol of advancing Wraith soliders.
Or you step out onto the balcony, yawning and complaining that nobody in the civil world gets up this early and you see the black smoke rising from one of the still-burning towers.
Or you wander into the mess for breakfast and you wonder when the last time was that you saw the place this empty.
And somebody says "we won", and later there are medals and commendations and promotions and someone tells the story of some brave people who saved the world or whatever... But all of that seems kinda hollow when you wake up the next morning and smell the smoke.
It's a big city and a small expedition. Every empty seat is conspicuous.