Come home (plus rewrite)

by a touch of sparkles

Rating: teen
Tags: Equestria Girls, Radiant Hope, Violence, Slice of Life, Dark, King Sombra
Length: 4865

Waiting for someone to come home from war isn't a nice thing, sometimes its best to just try and get on with life

No calls, no texts, thank god. I hate leaving my phone here now. It could be ringing over and over. Never the general, they had other things. But it could be someone else important, maybe head of the medics. Grievous news to give. I hope it never rings.

i've added a re write, i went through and read this a while later and wasn't too happy with some things.

Published 2022-01-30 21:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2022-07-28 17:27:07 UTC

Come home

Nine o’clock, that’s when shift starts, every day but the weekends. My shift was shorter than most, the boss was kind enough to give me time to take the kids to school. I look at myself in the staff bathroom mirror. Magenta skin, a little rosy pink. Light blue hair in a bun and the front hairs gripped down. I don’t care to much about my appearance anymore, but I at least make myself presentable. Nobody wants a riffy person with their life in their hands. I leave and open my locker one last time, check my phone. No calls, no texts, thank god. I hate leaving my phone here now. It could be ringing over and over. Never the general, they had other things. But it could be someone else important, maybe head of the medics. Grievous news to give. I hope it never rings. Heading out to the van with the new guy, I was never the best with names, it’s a B or something. We sit down and turn on the systems and check over the supplies in the cabinet. They sounded rickety, they weren’t, but it’s a question I’ve got used to now. It’s tied in right? Not going to fall over? Yes I say, their all clipped in.

First case comes in, the typical early shift. An elderly persons fell down the stairs. Maybe late at night and has been lying on the floor the whole night until the caretaker comes in. We drive, short distance. Not a severe emergency, no lights or sirens. We arrive. A sweet old man, nineties, his hair must have been…maybe golden once, hard to tell from the grey. Your best bet is the eyebrows, they seem to stay coloured much longer. He wasn’t hurt severely, no broken bones, no emergency. These are the nice cases to start or end the day off on. We sit down with him and his caretaker, have some tea and a little toast. The elderly just want someone to talk to, no one should leave the world feeling alone. But we can only stay for five minutes or so, once the tea and toast is gone we have to leave. But the old guy was smiling, that was worth it. The sky wasn’t smiling though, it was dark grey, rain was on its way.

We sit in the van for only seconds before an emergency pops up. Shallow breathing and shaky, not exactly responding. We shoot off, sirens spooking the nearby drivers. Blue lights ignore the red and in about ten minutes were already at the next house. We get there, we “meet” the patient in bed. They aren’t breathing now, their heart has stopped. We inform the wife, who is a mess, who wouldn’t be. Husband looks dead in bed. Me and B begin the CPR, taking it in turns. We couldn’t become tiered. We call out for a senior paramedic, who brings a…device to do the CPR for us. My brain can remember how to save lives at the moment, it’s not worried about the name of fancy machines. We keep track of the patients pulse. We use the defib a couple times, on the second the heart starts weakly. He wasn’t stable, he was certainly low on oxygen, we whiz him off to the hospital and they take over from there. We restock at the hospital after using oxygen tanks and the like, we debrief ourselves. What we did well and what we could have done better. Somehow it was already two thirty, time for lunch, it was spitting now, that horrible type that’s thin and misty.

Bullets pelted the wall that was once a building. Multiple rounds, they knew he was here. A few whizzed over his head, shaving off the traditional war braids of his race. Dark skin was bruised and cut, trickles of silver dripped into failing Kevlar. He had to move, they would chuck something more than bullets eventually. His enemy was smart, never leaving a window open during reload. He had to risk it, but he wasn’t a small target. Near twice the size of the average human, not helped by bulky loads. That’s why they were being slaughtered, for thirty years now. They were monsters, at least that was what half of the republic thought, the other half was on their side. He dashed over to another broken wall, taking a couple bullets to the boot. But then the world flashed outside a still standing window. Snow and ice was launched along with metal and concrete. A piercing pain shot through his arm, straight through then into the flesh of his chest. He remembered, years back, the shrapnel, the slaughtering nature of it. A long screw had impaled itself into his arm, a flying dart of a screw that seems inconveniently long. It was rusted from the sheer amount of water from snow to mist. It stung and burned in the muscle. His arm was going dead from pain, he was useless if he couldn’t lift his gun, let alone a knife.

We eat at the nearby café, then we’re in the van a half hour later. We get a call, not as serious. A woman fainted and hit her head with no one else home. So she was clearly not in a severe state if she managed to call the hospital. It was a long way away though, perhaps the other ambulances had more important things to do in that area. I recognised the district name, well known for motor accidents, mostly from teens trying to look hard while playing chicken.

We arrive at the house and find the woman was crawling around. She slurred her speech a little and was just a tad confused. She muddled up her explanations. But she had fainted from sever period cramps and hit her head on the stone floor of the kitchen. While I checked her head over for any blood or dents she gave me the idea that she could have been unconscious for a little bit. It’s like one of those naps that just happen and you can’t remember when you fell asleep she attempted to say. I was planning to take her over to the nearest hospital anyway, but that sealed it. With no one around we couldn’t guarantee if she had hit her head on anything else on the way down. We load her up and take her to the nearby hospital. Newley built, probably because of the motor accidents. We only realise after we drop her off that our shift has ended, somehow. Only three calls, I don’t even know if that’s average or not, I tend to forget precise numbers by the weekend.

He had slumped down somewhere safe…ish. There was still a chance it would explode, or the wrong man would find him. Someone with a blue snowflake badge. But he was lucky, a soldier of the republic with a white feather badge like his. Alabaster skin, stained red, and a chard blue beard. The soldier panicked at his hazy gaze. An arm drenched in his own blood where he had pulled his arm, the spiral of the screw shredded more flesh. Being pushed around by straining muscles and foolishly half removed by prying fingers. The other soldier lifted him by the good side, lifting the giant to rest over his shoulder yet still have his feet on the ground. There was a few comforting words he couldn’t hear. Ears echoed with the bangs and booms as he tried to focus on his two feet. No he didn’t have three, one was a different colour and much smaller. Put one in front of the other.

I can’t just go home, I have to go back to the main docking station to grab my stuff. I get to my locker after another long drive where I find my phone. Still no really important texts or calls. Just one off my daughter, were at grandma’s. I took my stuff and entered my own car, same numberplate, same seats and not rickety sounding. I drive down roads at a normal pace now, reminding myself I can’t run red lights. I arrive at the bungalow. Quite a big one near the park. The two schools the kids went to were nearby, much closer to here than they were home.

The kids only have three grandparents, only one was biologically though. I was adopted. Rabia opened the door to me, she was getting on in age now, her walking stick was propped up against the wall for longer journeys. She looked so much like him, dark skin, darker hair, red eyes and a giant. One eye was missing though, torn away in the war she escaped. I will always remember that story, one so depressing you just can’t forget it. Her, her husband, their son and the bird were caught up in the crossfire. The husband had took the shrapnel from the exploding family inn and died in their arms. There was no saving him, but they had saved his body and embalmed it so they could give him a proper funeral when they were evacuated. That had happened…what…a good thirty or so years ago. Why was this war still going. Its led to nothing.

I find the kids in the living room. Magnolia the oldest, my skin and her father’s eyes and hair. She was in sixth form, doing Chemistry, maths and history. Like most, she didn’t really know what she wanted to do. Just something chemistry. Then there was Platino, fathers size and fur, my hair. He was in early year nine, he would be choosing his options for GCSE this year. My youngest was Etéra, she was in year five, still very young. She was the same colour as her father, half her hair was blue though. her eyes were green like neither of ours. It was one of his genes, the green would grow out. She was only one here who didn’t quite understand the absence of her father, if you didn’t count Opal. The white peacock was well over thirty years old yet he seemed young still. He seemed too intelligent for what he is, to a point he has an inflated ego. He knew how pretty he was. I sit down with them, Rabia goes to get me some tea, I would get changed after.

I fiddle with my rings. I often twisted them around my finger. I had three over the usual two. The engagement ring was gold, a chunk of sculpted rose quartz in the middle. The two other rings cupped it on either side. The wedding band was a braided pattern, two strands of tungsten and the other a rosy inlay strand. The third was called a push ring or something. He gave it to me after we had Mag’s, similar to the wedding ring, just not a braided pattern. Rabia handed me my tea as Etéra cosied up to me, Rabia gave me a forgiving look. We were both going through similar experiences. My husband may not return, her son may not return. I don’t know which would be worse. Still no messages.

He woke up slightly dazed. He could faintly remember a snow mobile, and a med bay. His arm hurt, a nurse stood over him. White skin again, pastel pink hair. He wouldn’t be on the line again, his arm needed rest, not to carry a heavy gun. Besides, there were better equipped hospitals at home. The other soldier was gone, back out on the line. But not him, he would be going home. There were a dozen others that needed to.

I showered and changed, traditional republican cloths. They stuck out a little, but I liked them. It was odd that me and him ended up together. He was an orphan with me for some time, something went down with the plane and he was separated from his mother. He only had Opal. People liked to say we were a good example of how love conquers and stuff, as if we hadn’t had our ups and downs. I say goodbye to Rabia and get the kids in the car. The two teens were silent, especially Mags. Every time he left, I think she remembers that hospital visit, where he was getting proper surgery for a sliced open stomach. She was only five, it pains me to think that was one of her first memories.

It had started to rain properly now. It became dark as we travelled through the traffic filled roads of the kick out hour. If I wasn’t driving I would just zone out, listen to the rain. There’s something so relaxing about the sound of just rain, especially heavy rain on the roof of the house. The red lights of the cars were staining the water like blood, a thing I had seen too much of. The sound was making me tired, we were all tired, except for Etéra, her unending childhood sugar rush hadn’t come to a jarring halt yet, she chattered away about her friends at school and the strange games they play. I remember when I used to play those games, it’s been too long. How many sets of roadworks can one road have?

We pull into our street, I blinked twice at our lights being on. Did I leave them on? Theirs a car in the drive. Maybe the neighbour has a mate round. We dart for the door, the rain was heavy. I unlock the door, we clamber in, I run out lock the car then get back in the warm house. Theirs a smell. Spicy, sweet, herby, a dish I recognise purely of smell. I hear the kids run, then laughter. I turn to the kitchen.

And he’s there.

Standing there in his typical jogging bottoms with a bandage around his arm, the other held a flannel. Smiling as his children pressed him into the doorway. I selfishly pulled him away from them, pulling him down to my lips. I finally got to kiss him for the first time in six months.

Author's Note

Just something I wacked together, on the side lines. I realized I have been spending too much time writing my larger story and my art was suffering. but here's a smaller story just to keep my writing going until I get inspiration again.

The rewrite

Nine o’clock, my shift has started as always, every day but the weekends. It was nice that the boss was willing to shorten my hours to get the kids to school, except that was about seventeen years ago. I look in the mirror one last time, magenta skin, a little rosiness that had survived, light blue hair in a bun and the front hairs gripped down. It will all be ruined by the end of the day but I needed to look presentable. No one wants a riffy person with their life in their hands. I leave and check my phone one last time. No calls, thank god. One text though, just off Mags saying her and her sister are at school. I don’t like leaving my phone here as of late, for all I know it could ring or vibrate over and over. Then again they most likely have other, more important phone calls to make. I head out to the van, with the new guy who I can’t remember the name of, it’s a B or something. We check over all the supplies in cabinets, check the beds stuck in place, then make sure the vans topped up, all that jazz.

The first case comes in pretty quickly, a typical early shift. An elderly man’s fell down the stairs. Most likely late at night and has been lying on the floor waiting for his carer to find him in the morning. Based on the description it doesn’t appear too major, so the lights and siren weren’t put on. We arrive and we find the carer has managed to get him onto his chair, which meant he wasn’t to broken up. We check anyway, we ask if anything hurts. He has a little joke, I’m old, everything hurts. He’s definitely old, even his eyebrows were going grey. These are the best cases for the start of the day. These old people just want someone to talk to, so we sit with him and his carer, a cup of tea. He still pulls out dad jokes even when his kids have left. I would love to sit with him all day, but we had to go, at least he was smiling. The sky not so much, it was going quite the ugly shade of grey.

We sit in the van for maybe a minute before we get another call in, we get a dose of whiplash. Higher up the country the rain has hit, a car crash, driver through the window and straight into the tree. The sirens and lights are now one and we charge through the cars and trucks as the roads get slicker. We arrive and we see the car, completely totalled and the tree remained untouched. From what was left of the car I can see the back wing things, so its most likely a boy racer hedging their bets on a wet road. To the side we see a distressed man pacing, his non destroyed car pulled up. B says he’ll deal with him, apparently he’s good with people who are in that state. I examine what’s happened. What I can confirm is that drivers definitely dead. The bones of his neck are sticking out, he hit the tree head on at god knows what miles per hour. His mate was at least smart enough to where a seat belt, I peer in through the window to see his legs are most likely crushed, if I was to guess what was happening beneath the air bag. I know from experience the door isn’t going to open, but I try any way. Of course it doesn’t. B has calmed the man down, who’s know sitting in his car. He didn’t see it happen, but he heard the crash. I tell him we have to wait for the police who haven’t got here yet to get the door opened. B asks if we can just smash the window to get to them, but that would risk us slicing our arms and hands open, we need those. What we do is we shift the body of the bonnet and despite the fact he was an utter idiot we place him down respectably on the grass.

The police arrive, yank the door open then sort out the roadblock. We get to work with the passenger who is knocked out. The guys legs are a lost cause, after we manage to pull them out from the engine. We get him on the bed, then the oxygen. We do our best at cleaning the wounds of potential infections and strap him in. The police deal with his mates body, and were heading back to the hospital we started with. The same process that happened every day, back and forth, here and there, wherevers closest. We drop him of with the doctors and I assume he’s taken to surgery for those legs. He’ll be a few pounds lighter when he wakes up.

Rounds of bullets pound a wall that once made a building. They knew he was here, he was an easy target nearing eight foot. Black war braids were shaved off by a high bullet. A quick reload and a dash to the rest of the building that was still holding up. A bang and the world went whiter then the snow. Followed by black and dust and a tonne of bricks, wood and concrete. Air knocked out the lungs in a restricted ribcage. One dark, scratched hand sticks out, feeling for something liftable.

We grab a quick lunch at a nearby café, then were back in the van where we wait a little while before we get a call. Apparently a woman’s fainted and hit her head on the way down while home alone. She can’t be too bad if she’s managed to call the hospital. We head our way over. When we arrive she’s crawling around and slurring her words. She’s confused, although we manage to get the idea it was caused by a migraine and she fell in the kitchen which has a stone floor. I check her over for any blood in which she stumbles over her words, saying she can’t tell how long she was out for. Like those naps that just happen. I was going to take her in anyway, since the brain has a tendency to bash around even when its suspended. The nearest hospital is about half an hour away even at speed, so at least it wasn’t too bad of an emergency. We drop her off then we get another call.

Another stupid kid off course, you can never run out of them. I say that like I wasn’t one at one point. For whatever reason, a lads decided to jump down the centre of a school staircase and has busted his legs up, I guess todays a leg day. We set off again and when we arrive, we learn it’s not just any school, but a five story school. So this kids legs are ever fractured or sticking out of him, were told he’s not unconscious though, so it couldn’t have been from the top floor.

Were led through the corridors by a receptionist and we arrive at the staircase. The kids legs are not the worst case scenario, but they have started to bruise. Oddly enough he doesn’t look like a cool kid, something tells me it was peer pressure. I normally don’t like when teachers send away a patients friends, but maybe this case was for the better. We pull him onto a stretcher and strap his legs still, we can’t really tell what type of break were dealing with, if I was to guess it would be transverse on the leg and potentially an injury to the hip or knee. We’ve asked the kid some questions but he seems a bit stunned to answer.

Any attempts to shift the heavy rubble were proving futile. The movements seemed to only shift the rubble closer and tighter. The free hand had found nothing useful, not like it could do anything, the arm was trapped. The dust was filling his lungs and choking him of the already limited supply of oxygen. Almost everywhere hurt as numerous bones were crushed and split, his chest screaming out in the agony of broken ribs. One will puncture soon enough and then it will be over. There were certainly more comforting places to die, but at least the battlefield is honourable. Then something wet touch his hand and a gruff bark quickly followed. It could go two ways now, he was helped, or he was shot on site. He felt the rubble lift, and through dusty eyes he could make out blue hair, what was probably once white skin if it wasn’t for grime, and a uniform that told him he was not dead.

We get a few more not so major calls before the end of the day miraculously makes its way around. Except the heavens have opened and its chucking it down. We head back to the docking station and I grab my things. No calls, just another text off Mags saying that they are now with grandma. Reminding myself of the rules of driving when you’re not priority on the road for a second, I then head off to the little bungalow where they were.

I often try to ignore the fact the kids only have three grandparents, of which only one is biological. Something about it is sad, but I wouldn’t be sure how to describe it. I have the key to the bungalow yet I still knock, and as always Rabia opens. She looked so much like him, dark skin, darker hair, red eyes and a giant. Except one eye was torn away from the exact same war happening now. The stories of how they got out sticks with me and I wasn’t even there. A father dying on top of them, using his body as a shield from the exploding shrapnel of the family inn. They saved his body and got him a proper funeral when they escaped. That was thirty years ago now.

The kids are in the living room, although one is more an adult now. Mags is about to do her A levels, she’s doing well as far as I’m concerned, unless she’s hiding the not so good tests like we all do. But the December mocks went well enough. There was quite an age gap between her and Etéra, nine years, but very close to ten. The exact same war, departures left and right. Mags hasn’t seemed to have taken on her father’s hight, and we were yet to know what colour Etéra’s eyes were, still being baby green. Those eyes were not tainted by the understanding of her father’s absence, like everyone else’s. Including Opal, a literal bird. The white peacock was well over thirty years old yet he still appeared young. He was far to intelligent for what he was, he was staring out the window, looking up in the sky. Sometimes I wish I could talk to him and know what he’s thinking, they were very close to each other. Perhaps like other pets Opal can tell when his friend is near.

I went off and got showered and changed. I had long since given up the crystal republic cloths. Mom jeans and woolly jumpers were far better, and less insulting. Rabia has made tea and bought some biscuits, Etéra has huddled into me, and Opal has come over for the crumbs. I sit and wonder who would end up worse. Rabia’s already lost everyone, we are all she has left. I would lose my childhood friend turned husband. Two children would lose their dad. It pains me to imagine that one of Mags first memories is seeing her dad in a hospital bed, his abdomen freshly sewn up.

“In about three weeks his bones should be in a good enough state that he could sit on a plane, albeit uncomfortably. Although he’d probably rather be home and endure the plane, it’ll be a surprise, our phone lines are cut down.”

We sit for a bit before we head out to the car, Opal really wanted to come with us for odd reason. It was still lobing it down, if I wasn’t driving I would zone out and listen to the rain on the roof of the car. It was that relaxing noise that made us tired, except Etéra. Her permanent childhood sugar rush hadn’t come to a jarring halt yet, and she chattered away about school and the silly games shed play with her friends. I should really listen more to what she says, I know I got annoyed when my mom never listened. I might get a chance to with all of these road works.

I had to blink twice when I pulled up into the drive to see the lights on. I’m pretty sure I turned them off. One of the spots on our drive is taken, a car I haven’t seen before. Odd. We dart for the door to avoid the still heavy rain, the warmth of the house is all too welcoming. I drop my bags down by the radiator, but the thought of drying of is halted by Etéra, very happily, shouting dad.

I may have well of fell into the living room, and I see him for the first time in six months. Mags was helping him up of the armchair, he was covered in bandages from head to toe and he was on crutches. A small chunk of hair is missing. And yet he is here, alive and…maybe just breathing. On the sofa I see my dad, so he must have picked him up and bought him home, in what must be a new car.

Etéra has glued herself onto his non broken leg, although Mags is trying to pry her off. I restrain from running over to him, and I gently wrap my arms around him. Normally he would pick me up to be eye level, but in his state, he leaned over. Even now we keep anything more romantic then a cuddle away from the family, it’s always been a bit awkward. We stay in embrace for a while before he wobbles and I help him sit down again. I tell my dad to go and get Rabia and my mom, we’re having family take out for tea tonight.

This has happened so many times, the overwhelming joy has since been replaced with simple relief. How war can last for so long and reach no stalemate amazes me, but one day it will end.

Hopefully.