Introduction
His bones ached.
He couldn’t sleep despite being exhausted from hiking through the snow
drifts for the past two days and nights.
He couldn’t sleep because the package he had been sent to pick up was
laying beside him in the tent as the blizzard rumbled outside. He lay staring
at the ceiling of the tent, thinking. Then, he heard a sound from the package.
It was the soft sound of a baby’s snore. That’s when he said out loud to
himself-“I promise you will be with your family soon.” Then, he heard another sound, it was the
sound of men yelling. It was time to run
His snowshoes made
little clouds of powder with each step. His mouth was drier than he could ever
remember. It was worse than any of the marathons he had run, worse than any
trail race and even worse than most of the tests he underwent in the Navy. His
breath made clouds too. The clouds were in sync
Like a syncopated rhythm, his hoarse inhales and exhales echoed in his
ears. They floated in front of eyes, blinding him at times. For the first time
in decades, O’Brien felt real fear welling up in his chest. It wasn’t the fear
of death, it was the fear of failure.
His
arms ached from carrying his 40 pound package. Biceps screamed for relief, but,
he had no mercy for his body, never had. He drove it on and on and on and would
until he completed his mission or fell over dead. He became a machine, breathe
in, breathe out. Take a step with the right foot, take one with the left. He
thought of nothing. The package
stirred and the sweatshirt parted just enough so that O’Brien could see the
tangled black hair inside. O’Brien couldn’t help himself. He paused and looked over his shoulder. His snowshoe foot prints were clear to see as
were the drops of bright red blood that trailed behind him.
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