Five Seconds

The brief life-changing moment of a soldier with a hidden past. Short prologue of a work in progress.

Tidal stood motionless in the forest clearing, seized within a moment of his life when the unrelenting drums of time beat loudest. The acute awareness of every detail forced each heartbeat to pass excruciatingly slow: He could feel the throbbing silence in the clearing, the whoop and whistle of the jungle having fled in the first moments of battle; could taste the acrid smell of burning forest choking the air; could see the flames and rising embers floating skyward as if toward heaven, chased by ghostly demons of smoke and ash. For Tidal, it was the terror-fueled instant when everything changed.

The face of the only surviving Rama Len soldier lay clearly visible across the battle-strewn clearing as he struggled to lift his bloodied head from the ground. He was enormous"over three meters tall"making him large, even for a Rama Len. His scaled armor hung in shredded, jagged strips across his chest. His maniacal face sneered with inhuman glee after having locked Tidal’s attention with three heavily accented words, shouted repeatedly through the turbulent air:

Mahrut Jinahr Duraleez…

Merit Jenner Duralis. Tidal’s name; his real name he thought no one knew. He froze with the sudden realization that he had been found.

The medical staff and nearby soldiers raced toward the dying enemy in an impulse-driven act of duty. The battle was over. The Empire had successfully repulsed the Rama Len ambush. It was now their responsibility to assist the survivors. However, they had no way of knowing that the Rama Len soldier did not intend to survive.

Tidal observed faint glow of a shrapnel grenade hiding in the man’s gauntleted fist, armed and ready to detonate. Time slowed. A raucous rage pulsed through him: Rage at the Ram Len soldier in the act of dealing hidden death. Rage at himself for his utter inability to stop it. Rage at the heathen gods who sanctioned this dishonorable act.

Tidal attempted to warn his team, but it was too late. His helplessness festered into a seething mixture of pain, hate, and remorse that burned inside him like an open wound. Adrenaline-fueled passion built pressure in his chest that erupted from his soul. The sound of a primal human scream filled his ears and it terrified him to recognize the voice as his own.

The explosion began with a flash of light and a deafening boom, followed by the instantaneous expansion of a wicked cloud of dust and shrapnel that devoured the giant soldier and everything around him, including the unsuspecting medical staff and soldiers moving to his aid. Time seemed to stop, then inched forward one fraction of a moment at a time. The first specks of hot metal pelted Tidal’s synthetic armor like heavy sand in a raging windstorm. His muscles contracted involuntarily as he prepared for the inevitable impact. The tangy salt of sweat stung afresh as it edged into the wound on his arm. Pain. Fear. He had never felt more aware of his life than at this moment, but knew it was the end. His end. His eyes shut and he took one last, sharp breath.

He was not prepared to die.

Author's Note

Remember, this is for posterity. So, please, be honest.