Cigs..You Have Any ?
"Uh, so we have only 3 cigarettes left..Ow!"
..The retreating British soldiers last horizontal drops of bullets hit at the corner of the one-wall wrecked home he was hiding behind..
"These only three are done, then I'm done..", looking into his sweat-wet pocket like a kid watching his ice cream melting down..
"Yes, I can not stand that s*it without my cigs. I die withou.." The bullets fly past through the leftover woods, tearing them into pieces and dust.
"Bastards!.. I am not gonna die before I smoke these !"
The sergeants thunderous voice wakens him off that ever-started break..
"Move move move ! We'll chase them until they can not hold in the ruins of the buildings ! You ! Lift your ass up or I'll feed you with those in your hands, scumbag ! Rush out ! "
Adrenaline push can do wonders even if you are carrying a rifle and revolver in a uniform as moist as a fresh laundry for hours after two slices of hardtack with a piece of almost septic butter eaten.. He rushed off his hide like his squad mates did and let himself jump into artillery-made 4-5 meters diameter crater.. It rains slightly, in tiny drops off the grey-passionate-painter sky so that you can never imagine of your return.
"Hell.." ..takes a dry and heavy breath that nearly changes the shape of his nose.. "I'd rather breathing that blend of tobacco instead of that blood-humid weather.." ...spits out as he checks for the sergeant..
"This zone is clear, sir.. They're fleeing like rabbits in front of a panzer ! " That is the shout of the wisemouth scout standing at the edge of the second floor of a large house's "ancient" bedroom..
"Keep your eyes on the sides of the road.. Some of them still may be finding it difficult to get out of their hides.. Keep your eyes open !" sergeant reacts.
Now they are more comfortable breaths..In - out, in - out.. He couldn't get the hard and out-of-beat breath, however, he was neither wounded nor exhausted like a dying sheep. He turned his head right to back shifting his body upwards a bit. That is vapor being released just beyond the collapsed roof into the middle of the road. He cautiously lifts his flat-tyred-truck-like body out of the crater and moves towards the vapor..There's something alive there.. Well, at least alive enough to breath.. He pulls out his revolver to avoid any short-distance trouble..
The British guy looks seriously wounded. Two shots in the chest.. Red colour turns the brown into a scary tone of crimson when they are heavily blended into each other. However, red seems really heavy and is getting heavier... The Brit seems to suffer an unpredictable pain, somehow, in a mood of Zen, then gives a "What the hell are you lookin' at?" glance, short of any interest whether he will be shot to death right now or anything else.. After making sure of the Brit's unavailability to move a single joint he slowly prepares for a last shot..
Suddenly Brit releases some words out "Aahh..." wheezes..You can feel his lungs tearing apart with cracked bones "Cigs..Cigarette..You have any ?".. Good question.. He has three but never thought of trading his only heaven for anything in the middle of this hell.. Blind and steady looks strike his face. The Brit still breathes but, for sure, has not much time left.. "Well I think I may sacrifice one..He will even be unable to take a second smoke off this cig.. I may get it as soon as the guy's dead" thinks momentarily.. He grasps the "holy three" in his pocket and takes them out. He glances at the Brit as if he is lending him something for long. He lights up one and inserts slightly into the Brit's mouth. The Brit could difficultly hold the cig in his mouth, it is even hard to tell that he can smoke it. He suddenly realized that he was nearly as eager as that dying Brit to smoke..
He, then, acts to put back the two cigs left. His swollen and sweaty palms lose control momentarily, leaving the cigs into the tiny pool of rain coloured with the Brit's blood.
"F*ck!" He can not find moments to kick the Brit with anger. It was that semi-zombie's fault to make him stand there causing him to lose his cigarettes. However, he was more of a zombie than the Brit he could never kick in the hip. It was a couple of shots, one of them penetrating through his left ear. He could only see two seconds of some of his squad mates running past him forward. One of them could take a moment of look back while he couldn't give it any meaning anymore...
...
If only he had realized that he swore to die after these three cigarettes.. Aiding the Brit in his last moments, he was rewarded the way he wanted it to be..
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