Libing
The sky, once again, was brown--like the bark of a tree.
The old man was young then, but not as young as before. No, he was old enough to steady a rifle and aim, so off to the army he went.
It was his first day, and his uniform was too big for him. It's sleeves draped over his hands, and got in the way of training. He had to fold his sleeves up to make aiming even possible.
...
Tens of men stood in Napoleonic formation--side by side, all gripping their rifles too tightly.
A single stood palm freely, lifted up into the air.
A pause.
Then the drop of the arm, and an order:
"FIRE!"
Rather than the single powerful blast the Sergeant must have expected, it was more of a marching band practice gone awry. Men misfired early, late, down to the ground, and up to the sky. Simoun however, managed to place a reasonably good shot on the chest of a dummy 30 meters away.
"Must have been the practice with dad." he thought.
His drill sergeant walked up to each of Simoun's peers--with debilitating compassion.
"Put the gun against your shoulder son," he'd say while demonstrating, "Like this."
With every step he took, Simoun couldn't help but get excited.
...
Once his time came, the old drill sergeant simply passed him by without a word, and without even a glance in his direction.
The old man was young then, but not as young as before. No, he was old enough to steady a rifle and aim, so off to the army he went.
It was his first day, and his uniform was too big for him. It's sleeves draped over his hands, and got in the way of training. He had to fold his sleeves up to make aiming even possible.
...
Tens of men stood in Napoleonic formation--side by side, all gripping their rifles too tightly.
A single stood palm freely, lifted up into the air.
A pause.
Then the drop of the arm, and an order:
"FIRE!"
Rather than the single powerful blast the Sergeant must have expected, it was more of a marching band practice gone awry. Men misfired early, late, down to the ground, and up to the sky. Simoun however, managed to place a reasonably good shot on the chest of a dummy 30 meters away.
"Must have been the practice with dad." he thought.
His drill sergeant walked up to each of Simoun's peers--with debilitating compassion.
"Put the gun against your shoulder son," he'd say while demonstrating, "Like this."
With every step he took, Simoun couldn't help but get excited.
...
Once his time came, the old drill sergeant simply passed him by without a word, and without even a glance in his direction.