six~ Redemption

Posted: J May, 2014 in Arma, DayZ Epoch, Wasteland
Tags: , , , , ,

{part one}

It is defined as the act of saving something or somebody from a declined, dilapidated, or corrupted state and restoring it, him, or her to a better condition.

It has been said that it can be found in simple acts; Kindness, charity, love and understanding. Is it…should it be enough? Love conquers all?

Contrary to what we may have been taught to think, the unnecessary and un-chosen suffering wounds, even the self-inflected ones, need not scar us for life. As marking and debilitating as they can be (and often are) what is worse? The ones that seem so deep that we allow never to heal or the ones we chose to believe as such?

What we allow the mark of our suffering to become is in our own hands.
There are many types of tattoos. We wear them in different ways. Some are visible, with bright colors. Others are hidden in the shadows of our souls; Dark art that we hide from both the eyes of a stranger and ones that claim to know us best. Many times we deny those particular decorations even to ourselves.

The colors may fade, and the lines bleed over time, but the scars remain. One lesson could be that earned is that we can be proud of the marks, of the moments that worked to form the person we are now.
If you loved, and were hurt horribly, will you never love again? Doesn’t that mean that you are allowing the person that hurt you to hold power over you still?

Own your life. Stop enjoying the hurt and find a place where you can believe in yourself once again.

Simply put, it’s completely up to you. You do not need approval from anyone save yourself.

Allow yourself to feel the light on your face when you step from the shadows. Allow yourself to see the mirror, and then the person staring back at you.

Allow others to see and enjoy that person.

Redemption: Breath and see the work is being done.

These were the last words I had written in the fading light of a Chernarus Summer night. Sitting by my fire and enjoying the last of my beer and steak.

I had grown complacent. I had allowed myself to drift from the training I had relied upon for so long now.

The bullet tore through my right shoulder, causing the plate of food to spin wildly into the fire and scattering upon the ground. My Beretta M9SD dropped to along with it and I fell from the stump I was using as a stool.

My arm hung at a dangerously limp angle, and I felt the searing pain of the wound. My head throbbed and I felt like I was passing out.

Rolling as best I could toward the UH1, I attempted to hide myself in the dark. I could hear gunfire muffled through the sound of the blood pounding in my head. My uniform wet with blood and the only thing I could feel was pain.

Constant and terrible pain.

As I rolled to a stop by the port-side skid, I saw tufts of grass and dirt puffing around me. For a moment I found it curious that the wind was doing odd things to the ground. Only when another round tore through my body did I realize through my pain muddled conscious that they were bullets striking around me.
Oddly, I didn’t feel fear. I was strangely detached, and slowly blacking out.

I attempted to pull myself into the cockpit. Why? I couldn’t fly. My DMR was not in the center stack cradle, and my pistol was somewhere on the ground.

Darkness was filling my eyes. Night had completely fallen, and as I slid down the skid support strut, I saw the men rushing into the camp.

My last thought was ‘finally’.

Ragged breaths stopped, and muffled footsteps approached me. Voices muttered unintelligible phrases and a shot rang out.
Blackness covered me like a soothing blanket. It was over.

(to be continued…)


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s