Upon This Waste

Chapter 1

The sky was thick with immutable stars, heedless to the tumult of the world. Locked in place. Shining on in the mists of twilight, bright in the dead of night, and dim in the ruddy dawn. Though a world within their grasp could quake with rage, they shined on. Even when the fogs of war covered them, they still shone, somewhere behind the blanket of the sky. And that thought in itself, that even though the world was growing foul and fouler, stars were still shining, maybe forever, maybe for only tonight, was somehow comforting. Somehow necessary. All he needed was for them to shine tonight. And the night after, and the night after, until all of this was over or the world engulfed itself in flames. Yet, perhaps that was not all he needed. But it was enough, for now.

"Hey Isaiah," the whisper floated in on the wind.

Gazing high above the world Isaiah had to hear his name a second time before he was stirred.

"Yeah Mike, what is it?"

"Back home, did you ever go huntin'? I mean, I loved goin' out with my old man. I'd get me a good one, you know. A fourteen-point, shot an eighteen once. I get a good one, pull the trigger, get 'em right in the side, back behind the shoulder. I hate cleanin' 'em up though. It's somethin' awful. Smells absolutely horrible, looks just terrible, almost makes a man lose his appetite to tell you the truth."

Isaiah laughed and answered, "No, Mike. No I guess I never did. It always looked fun enough though. Doesn't sound so good now, but in the past I've considered it."

"What about fishin', you had to have gone fishin'? I caught me this big ol' bass back home." Isaiah grinned as Mike held his hands completely too far apart to simulate the length of a Midwest bass, large or not. "As a matter a fact, it was about a week before I left when I caught 'em. Went fishin' with a friend of mine, real good guy. This thing put up quite a fight, but I got 'em. Ain't the first time I went fishin' or else he'd have probably squirmed his way out. Made a fine dinner. Mighty fine dinner," Mike said seemingly picking his teeth of the bass he had spoken of.

Isaiah glanced over at Mike and laughed again. "I don't suppose I ever fished either. I could've I guess, just never went out. I did go out to this one pond a lot, but never to try and catch anything. Not fish at least."

"Alright then, no huntin', no fishin', what about baseball? Surely you've played some ball before."

Isaiah looked up at the stars again and let out a breath before he replied, "I watched a game once." He adjusted where he laid and chuckled. "But no, never played."

This time Mike laughed, but it was cut short as he shifted his stare over at Isaiah. "Really, Isaiah? None of those things? Not once? Not a single time, you're sayin'? Sometime you'll have to remind me and I'll go lookin' for a ball and a bat and some guys so at least maybe you can play one game before you get shot in the head. I've been known to hit a ball quite a ways, you know." Mike pretended to swing a bat several times before looking back at Isaiah. "Sometimes I don't rightly know what to think of you."

The night rolled on overhead as the stars glided over the fields and the dirt and the men. Silence blew in with the wind, and nothing but ruffled coughs and moans could be heard. The air was cool and the wind was cold, and the men's jackets fought off the gusts that dug their way into the trenches.

Mike closed his eyes and yawned before he spoke again, "Do you ever worry?"

"Worry? Yeah, Mike, I do. Sometimes more than others, of course. Sometimes a lot when I think I shouldn't. Sometimes none at all, and I suppose that never makes much sense. But I worried at home before so the worry isn't exactly strange. But come on now Mike, how much can a guy worry put up in a place like this? Just add a little furnishing to these holes here and you've got yourself a mighty fine place to call home."