“Maybe your hair isn’t meant to part, Pete.”
“You wounn know mucha bout that either huh boy?”
I didn’t answer. Pete took off his helmet, and put it under his wet armpits. He then spat three times in his hand, one spit more intense than the other. He wiped the spit residue with his free arm. He then carefully slicked his smelly hair back, with large yellow clumps of mucus holding it down. He really liked himself. Peter Wilson, was the type of man that seemed to have everything if you didn’t know him well. In reality he’s nothing short of the new generation of backwoods Floridian trash. He talks and walks himself tall, but you could see through his facade, or at least I did. The way he cleans himself and talks, dead giveaway. He wiped his hands on his pants and shirt. No respect for the uniform, maybe it’s a trait with Floridian people.
“Whuh time th’bomb droppin?”
I checked my watch, three after.
“Hmph,” he said, squinting and looking at the full Sun.
He sets his rifle on the floor, he sits cross legged next to me. I really do hate him sometimes. Then I started to pick my nails, it’s a real nasty habit of mine, my father used to hit the tips of my fingertips claiming they’re gonna fall off if I keep biting them. But he’s not in the hot boonies of California to tell me this, now is he?
“ONE MINUTE UNTIL DETONATION” boomed a mic far away from us.
I started to bite more feverishly, I’m actually sort of afraid of the bomb to be honest, I didn’t even want to rack my mind of all the wrong things that could happen from such a device. It’s a nervous habit.
“I wishi’d just come the hell on” muttered Pete, I ignored him again.
That’s when I got the shakes, my legs really buckled, I felt as if I were going to fall over.
Blue and red swirls encircled my vision.
I didn’t hear the ‘one’, I closed my eyes. I could see the white flash through my eyelids, it lasted a few seconds. Then the first shockwave rocked my body. I didn’t expect the shockwave to be so powerful, it knocked me off my feet, and I landed on Peter.The shockwave was incredibly hot, to the point where I feared it might burn my skin. I could hear him hollering all sorts of filthy names in my ear. I heard the blast next, a low booming sound that had an otherworldly quality. I got up, grabbed my gun and looked at my surroundings. The bomb however was a beautiful sight, rising, far in the air. My mouth hung agape, I touched myself to make sure I was actually ‘here’, and not blown to smithereens. To my surprise I’m drenched in sweat. It never occurred to me someone could sweat that much in a matter of seconds. Peter was sure to pull me out of my awe-
“Cm’on!” he said half terrified, half annoyed, he hopped out of the hole and paced gingerly towards the explosion. On his way out he kicked dirt in my eyes and a clash of fear and pain jolted my body. I cursed loudly and mashed the palms of my hands into my eyes. God how I hate that Peter Wilson! Once I could see I’d shoot him with my rifle, dead between his eyes! I heard another Southern voice scream into my hole.
“The hell are you doing?! Get outta that hole, boy!”
With my eyes still closed, I outstretched my hands, feeling searchingly for the concentrated heat of the explosion. It felt as if putting your hands close to a fireplace. So I hopped out of the hole, my eyes still closed, and began to march for my country, hoping I’m going the right direction.