@@DESCRIPT="One More Body by Riker"        
       Well, you have no idea just how badly I screwed up my kind readers.
       My editor extended the deadline for reasons of technical
       difficulties, but I can never seem to get it into him on time, even
       with a few extra days to work on it. Have a measure of shame towards
       me, for I keep screwing up. But enough about me. Let's hear about
       the better me. Well, this is the sixth month, I got the dates messed
       up. I have been working at this for quite a while, and this
       publication allows me to circulate my works and enjoy the
       knowledge that you are enjoying the stories that I write,
       or at least, not complaining about them. Welp, about to end
       High School, not that much more time until I graduate and I am
       forced to get a job and support myself, for that feel pity for
       me. I liked being a bum.


			     One More Body

			     By Sam Cary

			     A.k.a. Riker


	 Walking through the field of bodied, bodies from both sides, he
       stopped and looked around. What he saw frightened him. He was
       the last living person on this battlefield, they had won, but
       at what cost, longtime friends dead all around him, the ground
       stained red, straw grass pink, and the enemy everywhere, all of
       them dead, many scattered throughout the field in pieces. He
       stood there for a long time pondering. He was no longer a soldier.
       He was just a boy lost in the haze of killing and death. He grabbed
       at his cigarettes and slowly pulled one out, he looked at it
       blankly for a moment and then lit up. He stood there for a minute,
       entranced by the flame as it danced down the match. He almost
       didn't notice that it had burnt down to his fingers until the
       pain became unbearable. He dropped what was left of the burning
       stick to the ground, it fizzled out in a pool of blood. He watched
       a single line of smoke rise up from the pool. When he saw it at
       eye level, he noticed that it was pink, that cherry kind of pink
       that you saw on Valentine's Day, it made him want to puke. He
       finally forced himself to look away from the pool and up towards
       the sky.
	
	  He watched the clouds battle in the sky. It was very calming,
      no death up there, no blood. Finally he took a pull off of his
      cigarette. He felt the warm air fill his lungs, felt the flavor
      on his tongue, and the satisfaction of the nicotine rush the
      cigarette proffered. He looked down to his feet and realized
      that the body that had been lying next to him was gone. In fact,
      when he scanned around the field, he realized that he was all
      alone. He turned around and around, but they were all gone.
      He looked up again, staring at the sky, he was just glad to
      finally be away from all of the death. But something inside
      of him made him look back down, and there they all were, staring
      at him with their dead eyes, blaming him for living. And that's
      when they started towards him.
	 He woke up in his bead thousands of miles from the field,
      sweating profusely. He had started having this dream more and
      more often now, it was coming to him about three times a week.
      It hadn't been this bad since he had gotten back, and it was
      coming at him hard this time. His medication no longer had any
      effect on the nightmares. He had stop taking it a few nights
      before. He noticed that his wife was stirring, and when she
      noticed him, she immediately sat up and held him. He just sat
      there, shaking, trying to get back his control. He sat there
      for a long time, and eventually nodded off. He slept a
      dreamless sleep the rest of that night, and for that he
      was grateful.
       
      He woke up a changed man, calm and collected. He got dressed
     and headed out to work. After his stint in the military, he
     got a post in the States. His duties were light, and he enjoyed
     the freedom that they offered him. His time was his own, for
     the most part. But today was his day off. He headed into town.
     He was working on the house and decided he needed some supplies
     from the hardware store. He saw something out of the corner of
     his eyes when he was waiting at the stop light, but when he
     turned to look, it was gone. He thought nothing of it.
       
      He was in the hardware store looking at paint and sheetrock when
     he saw something out of his past. He dropped what was in his
      hands and gave chase. When he turned down an aisle. He saw it,
      no, them. They were standing there, looking at him with the same
      dead eyes that he had seen on the battle field. He stared at them
      until a store employee tapped him on the shoulder, telling him he
      dropped his stuff. He thanked the man blankly and left the store.
      He was a walking ball of nerves after that, seeing ghosts
      everywhere, in the grocery store, at the base when he checked
      for a few moments to get some paperwork. When he got home, he
      went into his room and locked the door. He threw his jacket
      on the bed and went into the bathroom. He turned on the sink
      and splashed some water in his face. When he looked back up
      at the mirror, they were all around him, staring at him,
      mocking him. He charged out into his room and got his sidearm,
      flailing it wildly, only to see that they were no longer there,
      he slumped against a wall and down to the floor, holding his
      head and keeping a grip at the gun. He looked up again a few
      moments later and they were all there, staring at him again.
      And he thought, there's only one way to stop this. He looked
      at the gun and at the men, and he fired at them, bullets only
      hitting the walls. His best friend that had died so long ago
      mouthed only two words to him. They were "Do It." He stared
      down at the gun, and slowly started turning it towards himself,
      putting the barrel in his mouth and cocking back the hammer.
      He thought, at least there will be no more pain. What the hell,
      just one more body, one more casualty. He then saw that his
      wife had entered the room, and he started to realize what he
      had almost done, and he started to cry. He threw the gun across
      the room and grabbed his wife. He had only tried to end the pain.
      And so he sat there, holding his wife in his arms, crying. He
      had been dead for so long, maybe now he could live again. Maybe
      not.
