Skyfire Read Free Page A

occurred inside him when he’d learned that a close friend had died on a mission he was supposed to be on during the Iraq War in 2006.  It was a call to action combined with murderous rage, immense guilt, and the urge to break down and cry.  It also showed how poorly his previous wartime experience had prepared him for this moment.  This, here and now, was truly the end of days.  I should be dead right now.  I should’ve gone to Rutgers and become a lawyer. FUCK!  Trent’s mind raced with futile thoughts.  In his calmer states, Trent was always fascinated by the ways the human mind works in times of crisis.  Once, while running toward gunfire coming from an apartment complex during the war, he had thought only of how much he wanted the can of Mountain Dew he he’d been saving for himself back at the base.
    Trent pulled the quick release strap on his assault pack, lowered it to the ground. He took three deep breaths and leaped over the waist-high divider, into the park.  He ran faster than any two-pack-a-day smoker should have been able to, purely on adrenaline.  What the hell am I looking at?  It seemed to be a bipedal organism, bearing a resemblance to a human, except it was larger and without distinct features.  It was extremely pale. It appeared in pristine physical condition, if that was even possible to determine considering how foreign it looked.  The first word that came to Trent was “ghost.”  The organism looked to be unarmed.  Fuck that shit.  You’re dead, asshole.  No one does this to our home.  
    Trent assumed that the organism’s vital organs were located in its abdomen. He ran ahead at full speed.  The ghost stared back with empty, lifeless eyes.  Trent leapt as high as he could. As he came down on the ghost, he thrust forward his bayoneted carbine with all his might. The momentum caused him to continue falling forward while still grasping the pistol grip.  Upon landing, the bayonet ripped out of his target.  He spun around, stumbled.  He continued to run as fast as he could, nearly falling from the momentum of his ungraceful kill. He was covered in an excessive amount of dark, amber liquid he assumed was blood.  Behind him he heard the rasping sounds of labored breathing.  I never knew if I killed before.  There was always a doubt.  ALWAYS.  I’ve only ever seen the bad guy once in my life.  This time had been definite.  It had been up close and personal.  Trent had no idea what to make of the situation.  What are they? Why aren’t there more of them?  Where are their weapons? 
    Doubling back for his gear on the edge of the park, Trent had a slew of questions.  As he stood on the street paralleling Manhattan known as Boulevard East overlooking the Hudson River, he thought yeah, well, the city’s fucked and I’m glad I bought those guns in Georgia when I was a lieutenant .  He started jogging down his street toward the Lincoln Tunnel. 
    Glancing to his left, he could see that the scope of the damage was still very much unknown.  The New York City skyline still rose magnificently along the Hudson River.  Each area, each building, had its own unique characteristics, its own history, its own beauty.  It may not have been the epitome of natural beauty, but Trent saw it as a testament to the capabilities of human beings who are willing to work together and put at least some of their major differences aside. 
    Trent’s mind continued to wander as he jogged.  He looked to the recently gentrified Harlem, a stark contrast to what it was in 1980s.  Slowly, his eyes shifted right, scanning south in an almost hypnotic state.  His breathing was steady now, rhythmic.  Cool autumn air filled his lungs.  The Upper West Side, with its high-end luxury residential structures overlooking Central Park, was still there. The buildings blended in a light concrete mass, symbolizing what many people in the city hoped to achieve at some point.  Roommates or riches, I guess.