shorties and scrappas.

One: A loss, put into words.

"I dont know how one would put this, but if someone, or something would find me after I die. At least I put  a little bit of me here." The man said into a recorder as he slumped up against a large glowing firework plant and put his helmet on the ground.  The plants had various gases contained within that could be reacted to propel the plant tip into a high altitude, the soft biolight it emitted only being from it having matured, and thus all the bioluminant cells within it were only caused by bacteria thst the plant used. "2 days, 2 hours since I have crashed. The only colony being on the other side of the planet, where I could not have been seen. How I could have hoped that I would have died somewhere, with at least a nice bed to lie upon. I doubt anyone would have gone after a stealth ship with it's core ripped out of it. After all, no heat would have been useless to detect for any system of detection. Most likely I would have been shrugged off as a shooting star. Heh." he continued as he felt the soft ground, and his leaking bandage. That had long since soaked up too much blood. The red substance mixed with blue medicinal nanomachines dripping all the way to his resting place.

"I can't belive that the only safety precaution had managed to cut so deep, agh -he said as he bent a bit too far, his bandage rubbing against his wound that had penetrated his abdomen. Going straight through him, only covered by nanomesh and bandages- that hurt. I guess I should have just been by the ship." he again said as he injected a painkiller into his bloodstream, well, what was left of it that is. The nanomachines could only have done so much. His ship's pilot cage, a roll cage made out of soft metal and fabric, had caused the wound earlier. It broke after it crashed in a bit of a ditch.

He was a clone pilot for the galactic defense force, used to protect the citizens from any high ranking threats. His blue pilot armor was battered and torn to bare shreds that just barely provided him with environmental protection, along with his helmet and modesty. He looked 25, even though he was just 4 years old. Accelerated maturation had made him that way. He was dispensable. His fellow clones his brothers and sisters, while the human and alien superiors were either officers, or even at most, a close friend. "Today marks my death, I feel it now, my body weakening,  implants shutting my secondary senses down. It feels so cold, and it is dark. As dark as my armor was, yet darker. I dont know how to say it, but I only see the sky now, the blackness of space. I think, either that, or I am blind. Yet, I dont feel too ashamed, I can feel the world dulling even as I speak. The fear i still there, but I guess since i have been in this state for so long, I can barely notice it." The man continued as he felt his upper eyelids weaken, then going down. "At least, I still feel, accomplished. Fron escaping the bastards who thought I was nothing but a tool." he said as he flicked the switch on his recorder. His hand dropped it, he was unable to hear the thud as it bounced twice, first from the plant root, then on the ground as it barely bounced a few inches away.

The man was dead as soon as the recorder hit the ground once. His excellence at being a slave to a government being the last thing he said, but he had his thoughts on why he was entrapped by the very thing he defended, he saw others happily going along their free, unrestrained lives.  Why was he not given the true right, even for a day, to live normally? He had pondered this for days, even though a few officers always told it when he was almost out of hearing range, he was cheap, expendable. Not like the people who actually took the harder training, who had signed up for the military, rather then born into it like he was. 

His death also caused the firework plant to shoot as his full weight toppled the top of it from the bud, making the pod fly into the sky, before bursting and seeding the land around. Many of the seeds landed around him as the plant withered and died with time. Even longer when only bones and armor scraps clattered when the dead plant grew weak enough. His recorder left the only thing still functioning. Two small plants were next to it that grew, the individually weak plants curled together to keep themselves supported. Soon enough, his recorder was covered by ground.  A relic, just waiting for someone ro realize the horrible truth that fighting a war meant to a person who finally found freedom, for a short month.

It perhaps still lies there, or perhaps it was dug up and recovered only just a year later. Maybe even shown to the galaxy even. But the twin recording device only recorded the sounds the man spoke, and his helmet.

At last, a clone found a death not in a war raged forever, but on the sidelines, with more thought then action. His words filled with nothing but recollection, and knowledge of his death. Not at the hands of people, but at the due of nature and a crash.