- Joined
- Apr 26, 2016
- Messages
- 5,110
- Nebulae
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**You enter a shack on the borders of town, smoke still fills the air from a pipe, and the fire cackles, barely alive. On an old wooden desk, scratched and bruised, you see a journal inscribed "Cody". The old vinyl still spins as a familiar song plays. You can't resist but take a read.**
**You open it's pages and - and on the first you see a black and white drawing of a boy - blond and fair. The words "CODY - 7" etched into the side.
** Attached by a paperclip on it's last legs, another picture, this time digital and in full colour, hides underneath. A complete contrast to the boy you see before you. A solider. War-torn, tired but stern, determined. You realise this is the same person, years apart. You wonder how many years it's been...*
** You continue reading further, curious still. Who is this man? What is this book? You soon realise... you have come across the mind of Cody. I wonder what he thinks about...**
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Entry Date: Prelude
Theme: Memory
Hello to anyone who has found this. If you have, I am most likely dead and so I shall permit you to carry on reading to cement my legacy. If not, STOP READING AND GET BACK ON THE WALL, SOLDIER, ON THE DOUBLE!
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The purposes of this journal is to remember the things I forgot but to also write the things I wish to not remember. Forever contained in these pages, until paper rots, are my most recent memories of my time on this rock. It has been a varied existence, friends, foes and... fenians? Xenians? Alike.
I shall start my story on the day I was born. April 14th. I do not know the year, if I had started this journal sooner I might but I feel middle-ages, maybe slightly younger. I do still feel strong, quick, sharp... but maybe the edge as softened since I last self-analyised. Nevertheless, what I remember from my past his scattered in the dusts of time, but I believe I grew up in Nottinghamshire, or what used to be called Nottinghamshire.
I briefly remember a womans face... fair and beautiful, my mother I presume - and my father... I know not of his face but only of his incredible artistic style to capture me as a child so elegantly. One day, I shall continue his legacy too, just as I seek you, the reader, to carry on mine once I am gone. By the way, if you are reading this whilst I am in the process of dying, then I assume there are still enemies to be fought, battles to be won, mankind to be freed. Do not mourn me, remember me. My only wish is to be as if I never left, or, in fact, no never leave!
I am a 1st Platoon Peacekeeper, but you know that otherwise you would not have found this journal. I was taken off the streets by my commanding officer, Los (@Oswald) . One day he will entrust me with his real name - but until then Los it is.
Los is a good man, with a mind of a warrior - though he does tend to wander and misplace his words. A stutter sometimes, perhaps? Nevertheless, his heart is what impresses me the most - and any soldier with guts is a-ok in my eyes.
I shall certainly be talking more about him in the future in this journal, but I shall conclude with this:-
Do not pity the dead, pity the living. The dead do not suffer in rest.
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