recs :: about
war and peace in
one hundred words
just shot me in the leg!"
- BJ Hunnicut, The Abduction of Margaret Houlihan
Five drabbles on this page.
Challenge #1 - the beginning
In the beginning, Hawkeye dreamed, sometimes in black-and-white, sometimes in
colour, sometimes with sound, sometimes in deathly silence. He dreamed of home
and peace and love long past.
After some time spent at war exhaustion stopped him dreaming, but he never felt
the change, never knew when dreams became reality, when those soft golden nights
became real, never knew the curls and dogtag chains wrapped in his fingers were
no figments of his imagination, never knew that in the beginning things were
different, but things always change, dreams are shattered, promises are broken,
but it all comes right, in dreams.
Challenge #3 - red wine
In relation to back home, yeah, they drank too much. In relation to where
they were, though, they didn’t drink enough.
There was gin (transparent, sock-filtered), beer (Rosie’s), Scotch whiskey (in
memory of Henry Blake) and white wine (with a picture on the bottle to prove it
was actually made of grapes).
Red wine was rarest, though. Hawkeye seemed to have something against it; no-one
knew exactly what.
Although, perhaps.... his first day in Korea, he ran out of the OR and into the
compound and watched his hands drip red.
And he never drank red wine after that.
Challenge #5 - before the war
drabble won third place for best challenge fic.
Softly – “Hawk?”
Hawkeye was asleep.
Louder – “Hawk!”
And now he was awake.
“Where are you?”
“Under a pillow,” Hawkeye murmured to himself.
(The way that was spoken was different, no mere irritation – that was fear,
longing, and anger too, blended together into one word)
Emerging slowly, Hawkeye shivered in New England cold and ambled downstairs. His
father was waiting for him there.
“Hawkeye...” he said softly, gently, holding a brown envelope – return address,
the US government.
Hawkeye swayed back and forth on his bare feet, naked except for the blanket
wrapped around him. “Oh,” he said, after a while.
Challenge #6 - after the war
The sun should shine brighter, the world should sparkle, washed clean by
waters that ran clear. But the water never ran clear.
They said he was imagining it when he said he could see a reddish tinge to it.
They said he was stressed, not to worry, it’d all be all right in a couple of
months when he’d got over it.
Now he wasn’t imagining it. In strange, patterned beauty, blood dripped down
from his wrists, over his hands, down to his fingertips, and then into the
water. The water ran pink, then red.
The war was over.
Challenge #14 -Euphemisms
Margaret sniffed. Repeatedly. “Frank...” she tried, again.
“Pierce. He’s not... one of us.”
“Of course he’s not, darling. He’s a degenerate.”
“No, Frank... he’s one of them.”
“The North Koreans?”
“No, Frank! He... deviates from the norm.”
Frank blinked. “I don’t understand.”
“He swings a different way.”
“He’s a Communist?”
Hawkeye stuck his head round the door. “No, Frank.”
“Then what are you?” asked Frank plaintively.
“Hmm.” Hawkeye pondered, then threw out his arms theatrically. “Hawkeye Pierce,
MD, manic-depressive, alcoholic, white hunter, founder of our nation, three
drinks and I’m yours...”
Hawkeye kissed Frank.
Frank blinked. “Oh.”