Dust in the Wind

Bombs fell from the sky, devestated the city, leaving rubble everywhere. With an enemy patrol close behind me, I searched for a place to hide before sunrise. An opening to a stairwell, concealed by fallen timbers and bricks, led down into the basement of what had once been an apartment house. In the pitch black darkness, I heard someone’s breathing. “Don’t shout,” I pleaded.

She recoiled when I touched her and started to scream. I held her face firmly against the side of my hooded parka and whispered in her ear: “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Dressed in underclothing, she shivered uncontrolably in the cold night air. I opened my full length parka and pulled her inside. She immediately passed out. Her breathing remaind labored for a while and then she seemed to relax and fall sleep. Our breathing rhythms syncronized and then I fell asleep.

The sound of voices awakened me, enemy voices, just outside the rubble covered basement. Shafts of daylight penetrated the darkness, partially illuminating the stairwell. I held my breath while silently praying. The woman inside the parka with me shifted her position against my body but she didn’t awaken.

I hadn’t been with a woman in years and I couldn’t resist looking at the her almost naked body in the dim light once the enemy voices fadded in the distance. My eyes traveled to her legs and back up again. Her eyes opened and looked directly into mine. Our lips came together as we mutually embraced. Her soft moist tongue entered my mouth and my penis instantly hardened. It wasn’t the right time or place but I had already passed the point of no return. When I immediately started to climax my first instinct was to pull out but she said held on.

I had been seperated from my unit for several days. Staying there wasn’t the right thing to do necessarily, but, without updated information, I had no idea of where to go next. When we finally stopped fucking, I began to explore the basement. It appeared to have been a completely furnished, one bedroom apartment before being dammage during the aerial bombardment.

Her bedroom had been demolished and was inaccessable at first. We cleared a path to gain access to her cloths. The kitchen cupboards contained canned and packaged foods, about enough to last a week or two. The refregerator still contained some edible fruits and vegetables along with rotting meat and spoiling dairy products. Herbs and spices lined a shelf by the powerless electric stove. Finding water would be a problem, forcing us to look around outside.

While waiting for her to get dressed, I opened a can of chicken noodle soup. She came from her bedroom wearing a rugged military style outfit including boots and cap, her blond hair, blue eyes, and red lips complemented by black leather. Before I could say anything, bombs came raining down from the sky again and the world exploded around us.

I awoke days later in a military hospital barely clinging to life, in and out of consciousness. I couldn’t communicate for weeks. Was she alive? That’s all I really wanted to know. When I could finally speak, no one knew anything about her.

After the war, I walked through the rebuilt city, not knowing exactly where she had lived, yet hoping for a miracle. What had the war accomplished? If I could find her again that would be accomplishment enough to have justified the war, to me.

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