My Idea Box

ORIGINAL IDEA: Girl of Grapes

The scent of grapes waved over the electrified corpses. Hazeem noticed it after opening his helmet's face guard to wipe the sweat off his tan face. Curious, he walked past the crisped bodies on the coral-colored streets, each one a rebel or a bystander. Neither wanted to be in the Ardan Hegemony, but Hazeem, a lieutenant in its armada, made them scorch black like his armor.

The further Hazeem walked, the more his bulging stomach growled against the tight armor. He ate only one ration bar before the invasion. Twelve hours prior, two bars. "You eat enough as is," his squad leader said. "Besides, you deserve it after starting a brawl with your own squad."

The thunder-like roar of coilguns drowned Hazeem's stomach, and smoke waved into his peripheral vision. His chubby legs walked faster after he heard one woman whoop with her comrades at the now destroyed dome-shaped houses. He imagined her face on a body he kicked aside. He did the same to her after she stole his food, inciting the altercation.

A painful gurgle had Hazeem running. He almost wished to taste the planet's only beach after he caught a whiff of sea salt from nearby. The fire and burnt flesh overtook it, like it did on dozens of planets and moons before. So familiar. So dull.

Not the grapes. Their sweetness grew stronger after Hazeem turned into an empty street. Someone could have popped up between the two rows of houses and shot him. He didn't care about it or the lack of bodies. He did care about the glint on his right, and he found his prize after he found his prize beyond the opened arch of a door.

Hazeem tasted grapes once at a spaceport on Rada'a. Tiny green orbs in tiny jars, then. Now, he found purple balls half the size of his thumb behind transparent mini-windows of dozens of refrigeration units. Each was stacked to form a wall shining in the dark room. Hazeem took one unit from the center, toppling the wall. Tearing the lid open, his thick fingers ripped out the vine of grapes like a heart from a person's chest, and his mouth opened wide to dig in.

A second into eating, he stopped. The remains of a grape smothered his hearty rumble. Two more remained, one half-eaten and bleeding in his right teeth while the other forming a lump in his left inner cheek. He peeked over the toppled wall to what his peripheral vision saw.

A giant, purple round grape stared back. Stringy dark hair fell over it and the tinier green grapes for eyes. A pair of equally purple hands and feet stabbed out of the raggedy dress, pushing the tiny body from the grapes Hazeem held out.

Hazeem eyed the little girl. No doubt, her parents left her with food she never touched. Still, her face matched Hazeem's after his superiors 'disciplined' him in the ship's brig.

Hazeem kicked another unit, spilling another bunch onto the dusty floor. "Eat," he ordered the girl like he would to a subordinate. "Eat," Hazeem said again when she did nothing.

She obeyed after a glance, yanking the grapes into her corner. Hazeem sat atop the unit and dug in. He carefully watched the girl. She watched him and the dark rifle he held.

Their jaws chewed in loud and squishy crunches. Their respective fruits dripped down their closed lips. Hazeem guessed a girl like her wouldn't know much. She wouldn't have much if discovered by anyone else. He would be the same if anyone found him and reported to his superiors about "disobeying orders."

A voice came through the door. "Lieutenant, there you are! We have to-!"

Hazeem whirled, his finger on the trigger. A pulse pack emptied, and a blue lightning-like bolt sent a body flying from the door. A second later, smoke left Hazeem's black barrel of a coilgun. "Shot," Hazeem said and rushed out, crushing the grapes he dropped.

Outside, a trail of smoke leaving a human torso, protected by inch-thick chest armor. Hazeem walked around the column to identify the new husk lying in the street. Through the opened face guard, the private's soot-covered face and dead eyes faced him.

"Ah, shot," Hazeem cursed again. He could see a tiny judge list the charges at his court-martial: Dissension among the ranks, disobeying a superior's orders, and worst of all, murdering a squadmate. His so-called brothers-in-arms would testify, even if they saw nothing.

"Payment for the black eye," every one of them would tell Hazeem before he being-

Hazeem hit a hand on his helmed head. No, no, he would not be executed! "C'mon, think," he told himself with four more knocks.

His eyes rose with the smoke. The tiny dot of the mothership shone with multiple lights of the assaulting rebel ships. Only the former would know of quick raid to cut off an enemy's resource (and their only retreat). After all, quick raids required quick transportation, like the shuttle Hazeem rode in.

A shuttle with a particle drive. For FTL travel.

Hesitation kept Hazeem's plan back in his mind. If he did it, he'd lose everything. His new home on Rada'a. His spot on the army. Would it be worth it? Couldn't he prove his innocence over an accident?

Seeing the dead private finalized everything. After insubordination and murder, what was one more offense?

Hazeem pinged the comm on his chest. "Cloud-4, this is Bolt-2. Soldier down. I repeat, soldier down. Requesting immediate pickup."

The comm pinged back with the shuttle pilot's nasally voice. "This is Cloud-4. Understood, Bolt-2. Arrival in ten planetary minutes. Sending coordinates."

Hazeem held back a grin. When the shuttle arrived, he would take it and get rid of its tracking. Then, he'd knock out the pilot. Never good to leave a trail of bodies.

Kicking the one in front, he slung his coilgun over his shoulder and rushed back in to grab as many units as possible. Upon piling three did he remember the girl still in her corner. He examined her twigs for arms and pointed at another unit. "Can you carry this?"

The girl grabbed it with her free hand. The unit thudded on the ground before and she dragged it to the door. Hazeem, after grabbing another unit, was out first. Though with full hands, he glanced at the comm-and built-in transmitter-in his arm. He'd have to get rid of it and everything else he didn't need.

Purple feet stepped into his peripheral view. "Do you have a name?" Hazeem asked.

Eating and carrying grapes at the same time, the girl said nothing.

The roar of an engine turned Hazeem's frowning face upward to the overhead shuttle. He'd think of a name later. For now, he had a ride to steal and several units of grapes to carry.

"Come on," Hazeem said and the girl dragging a portion of his food followed.

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AN: One many of plot bunnies hopping around my head. Currently don't know if I will get to this one just yet, as I want to write on other stories. Hopefully, when I do, my style in writing and storytelling will have greatly improved. Until then, take care.

-W.S.