Blackjack Gabbiani
10th May 2004, 01:57 AM
It's rather sad to retire an old uniform. After all, in the field, it's a show of pride to wear the crimson R as a second skin, loyalty for all to know.
It has been mended in the past, by my own hands. Lovingly take thread into needle and patch up wounds caused by my own mistakes, covering up things my superiors need now know about.
But the mistakes made now are too great to mend. And so the uniform must be destroyed.
Gently, I fold it up, tracing over each thread of my own, every patch, every mark, and place it in the ground. In less than a minute, it is covered over.
Tomorrow, no one will know it existed. And I will fade back into obscurity as another of the nameless army, all mistakes forgotten.
My new uniform does not suit me as well.
It has been mended in the past, by my own hands. Lovingly take thread into needle and patch up wounds caused by my own mistakes, covering up things my superiors need now know about.
But the mistakes made now are too great to mend. And so the uniform must be destroyed.
Gently, I fold it up, tracing over each thread of my own, every patch, every mark, and place it in the ground. In less than a minute, it is covered over.
Tomorrow, no one will know it existed. And I will fade back into obscurity as another of the nameless army, all mistakes forgotten.
My new uniform does not suit me as well.