Flurry [Ben Parish]

Snowflake and Toothbrushes

I was never a morning person. Back in freshman year, my mom had to drag me out of bed by my ankles just to get to school on time. Over a month of waking up to a five am reveille later, I pull myself out of bed with little to no complaint. The knuckle push-ups I would get as a punishment for being late are also a pretty solid motivator. The barrack floor is cement, which means just ten in and you're bleeding everywhere. I was too slow on my first day and my sheets had not one, not two, but three wrinkles in them. Fifty knuckle push-ups later and it looked like a murder scene, one I had to clean up that night.

I've been on time ever since.

My feet hit the floor and I'm already pulling on the standard navy blue jumpsuit along with the black boots I shine to oblivion every night. I straighten my sheets until they're perfect then pull my hair back into two French braids down my back. I take a quick piss, wash my hands, brush my teeth, and splash some cold water on my face to fully wake up. (Reznik, our senior drill instructor, has berated me for being "tired already" on more than one occasion. Personally, I blame my pale skin and deep set eyes.)

"Thirty seconds!" Dumbo's warning makes me quickly wipe away the excess water and dart into the main barrack, assuming my place by my bunk for inspection.

Reznik bursts in just on time, his shoulders back and chin high in smug authority. What an absolute bastard.

When I was first assigned to Squad 53, he's the one who gave me my new name: Snowflake. It makes sense with my skin and incredibly fair hair, but it's anything but a compliment. None of our new names are necessarily nice though, so I can't complain.

Flintstone is our sixteen year old squad leader and he has the most prominent unibrow I've ever seen, plus an impressive fivehead. He's an okay leader and we get on well enough, a bit a prick but what can you do?

Tank is a fourteen year old and filled with all the anger of one. He's a bit scrawny but can hold his own and his southern accent gave away that he was a farmboy before he even told us. Flintstone and Tank are good friends, I think it's because they both like to bitch so much.

I'm not sure how old Oompa is but he's big, and not in the good way, and he always manages to smell like candy somehow. He's our newest addition and adjusting well, even if he finishes last in just about everything.

Dumbo is twelve and already training to be a medic. His ears are huge and he's always trying to crack a joke, whether or not they're good is about fifty-fifty.

Then there's Poundcake, eight years old and hasn't spoken a word yet. He seems smart enough and is a hell of a shot on the range, an activity the rest of us struggle in.

Finally, there's Teacup. Seven years old, the only other girl, and absolutely brutal during and outside of training. I briefly wondered if I had that kind of colorful vocabulary when I was her age, but then I remembered that when I was seven I was playing with dolls, not assualt rifles, so I let it slide.