Episode I: Before The Storm (Part IV "Byrds Of A Feather")

"It is only uncommon for one to hate others for something they
have not yet seen in themselves. Humans are bred to hate what they see, but they only hate what they see within, or around them that is judged as hated by those around them. The ironic part is, those around them have been bred to hate something that one person has hated within themselves, it's just spread around. Then, it's no longer a hate, but a social fad."

Today was no different from the next Thursday I spent at the station, or so I thought. This time, I decided to go ahead and take the bus there, rather than waiting on someone to come and pick me up. I'd gotten there by way of bus... mostly. I got to a meeting point, and was picked up by the recent star of this story, Mr. Nice Guy, who had some other soldier there, who just so happened to actually be a soldier, not just getting ready to go in. The guy seemed to be about as silent as I usually am, but the silence was obviously so thick that we made it hard for Mr. Nice Guy to breathe, so he spontaneously engaged in conversation with both of us, basically at the same time. So there we were, talking about anything from the movie, Borne Ultimatum, to mindless journalists in the New york Times newspaper, at least until the guy was dropped off at his apartment, then the conversation died slightly, and we went on moving from subject to subject, so much that I cannot even remember anything specific at the moment.At any rate, at the station, I noticed again that it was mostly empty. Just me, him, and an SFC (Sergeant First Class, one rank and paygrade above Staff Sergeant), and the station commander as far as I know, aptly named Byrdman. There, I also noticed in his office, there was a child, every bit of 12 or 13 years of age, sitting on a chair as Byrdman did anonymous paperwork, seemingly attempting to live up to the average quota of tree murders they set on a daily.

So there I was, looming around the station looking for something, or maybe nothing, I couldn't tell what, exactly. Then, I noticed some guy sitting nearby, not the smallest guy you'd see in awhile, but at the same time, apparently didn't hold the ego that big people tend to. Just as I looked away, Mr. Nice guy came with a task which he'd asked me of on the way to the station-- glue some business cards to some calenders, so they can be taken to a nearby school (Which mind you, I did consider a job, probably for the child sitting in Byrdman's office, but accept, none the less... probably out of boredom, or out of a need for a sense of priority, I still don't know). This didn't seem to be a hard task, which I, of course like any person would, under-estimated.He'd shifted the task onto myself, and the guy sitting nearby, which to be honest, after doing it, I'm glad that he did so. So we got two boxes of calenders, and headed to the back room of the station to unpack them, and get started, this room of course being the most wide-open room not in use at the time.

When the box was sat down, I paid no mind to what would be inside, as the box was relatively small, just 12 x 24 x 5, probably (Length x Width x Depth in inches). So Mr. Nice Guy popped the box open for us, and we started going at it, which was when I realized just how much trouble I was in for-- forty calenders, fractionally smaller than the given demensions, with a small, outlined area for them to fit on. We got to working, and somehow started conversating at the same time, and ended up realizing we both shared one common thing-- our name. As we worked, I once again saw this child, except this time he was idly roaming the hall, back and forth as if he really needed something to do, and I couldn't help but think those very same words; "That kid really needs something to do...". So there we were, chatting about anonymous, random, and sometimes totally OOC stuff (OOC: Out Of Character), as I watched him roam around the station, I realized that he'd become more of my personal entertainment, in the place of the conversation we were having. By the time the task was finished, two more future soldiers had come in, and were waiting for FST (Future Soldier Training, training which is held by Mr. Nice Guy, which conditions inductees for the physical and classroom portions of Basic Training). So, we did training there, which reminded me that I still had to brush the dust off of the skills I'd learned no less than two years before, without training in between. When we got back in, I'd noticed Byrdman, and the boy were gone which sparked my attention a little bit, but not by too much, as the "Safety Brief" was being given at the time (Safety Brief is just a short briefing after FST, but before we all part ways, generally based on advising us to be safe in our endeavors outside of the station).

Later on, Byrdman and the little scout returned together, which caused an idea about the kid to dawn on me, but I still waited to verify it. I also noticed that he was getting quite the stirr of attention from the average traffic in the station which by now, had picked up as two other recruiters had come in, apparently bringing some noise with them. One specifically started to complain about some shirts that were delivered to the station by people of unknown ranks within USAREC, seemingly having to do with a function of some sort, insinuating that they had to wear them. The shirts themselves were gold-- one of the loudest, and most hated colors at the station, and bore an eagle on the back, as well as one on the chest, cradled by the phrases;

"Eyes on the Target" on top,
and
"Stay in the Hunt"

On the bottom, both in a spherical fashion. He'd continued on to mock them, starting with the phrase, making small, funny jokes about both, with the other recruiters chiming in. Soon, the jokes calmed down to one, every now and then with the occasional laughter or physical gesture, but still held in mind as we all shared idle chit-chat. Though I was sitting in Mr. Nice Guy's chair, which faced the opposite direction than Byrdman's office, where both he, and the boy stayed, I could almost feel his boredom which constantly called me to think the same thing over, and over again;

"That boy needs something to do."

Later on, Byrdman was tasked with the job of taking me home, and just so happens, he chose the "Soccer Mom" van to do it in (A blue Chevy van owned by the recruiting battalion, which resembles the cliche-ed vehicle, owned by the mother of a junior soccer player). Just so happens that the vehicle was packed with unnamed boxes of high size, and weight which blocked our path, requiring one of us to sit in the front, and the other to maneuver around into one of the back seats. The kid decides to take the back seat, for reasons I only realized would become clear after we started moving. I got in the front seat, and he, into the back seat and after afew minutes Byrdman got into the front seat, and cranked up the van.

There, I figured out why he chose to sit in the back.

Immediately, the AC blew, full blast, straight at my face (Note, the station stays at hospital temperature-- seemingly far below 30F), freezing me nearly to death. I endured this throughout the previous stop to talk to the aptly named Kbree, one of the other recruiters in the station (She's also known for her habbit of both smoking, and picking up recruits that smoke alot). So I made it home, and got an unusual welcome-- everyone actually wanted to see me. I mean, not like they hate my guts or anything, just that it's usual to come home, and everyone is in chill-mode (laid-back and/or resting, waiting to go to bed, or doing something minutely important.), give the general greeting, and we go on with the day. Instead, I'd gotten the unusual "hey!", and the need for everyone to see me.

--One thing I forgot to mention; I recived my test scores for the re-test today, and guess what? I actually passed.

"The day you die will be the day you truely live."

~Yours, Truely.