Thread: Homeward (MiseryChord x WriterGuy101)

Go! GO!!! Fields take my left flank Holmes take the right! Everyone else form up tight ranks and stay on my ass! And Richards! ... Richards? Gunfire like the grand finale of a fourth of July firework show rang out in the air, but aside that and the distinct ringing in the commander's ears, there were no other voices. He whipped his head around, a standard helmet protecting his skull, and hazel eyes frantically gazed over the other members of his team. The man he was searching for, however, wasn't there, and when he turned back around.... It was getting darker, the sun was setting over the horizon, shadows on the pavement were growing larger and larger. The sound of heavy booted steps filled out the quieted air of the neighborhood that they sounded from. The footsteps belonged to a tall man, who at one point in time some five years ago looked broad shouldered, lean, athletic, handsome and clean cut, with the brightest hazel eyes in the world and golden brown hair just long enough for a woman to tangle her fingers in to match. Now though, as he regathered his balance after tripping over a piece of abandoned sidewalk chalk, he looked the part of a hobo, or perhaps a fugitive. He was famished, dirty, clad in a worn, torn up military uniform. His hair was grown out and greasy, and his face had developed a beard and mustache much unbecoming of how handsome he normally looked. And his eyes, those hazel eyes that were once bright and full of joy and love, had lost their light, and their brightness. Beneath the clothing, hidden from the sight of any curious on-lookers, once unblemished, smooth, tanned skin, was hardened, scarred, stained with the remnants of evidence to a mysterious disappearance long ago endured. One quick glance at him would surely have anyone that once knew or was close to him looking away in disregard, as if he was a perfect stranger to them. But, perhaps with a good hard look, they would see the shadow of the man he once was. Perhaps they would recognize the strong angles of his jaw, or the slight softness that his cheeks had once held. Perhaps, behind the darkened shadows that had filled his eyes, they would see the light that once held them so bright and full of joy, love, and life. He found himself hoping that that would hold true as he turned a slow left off of the sidewalk, and passed the opened gate of a fenced in yard. A labored sigh left his lips as he hesitated, his right hand raising across his chest to clutch loosely at his heart. It had been five years since he'd last seen her, heard from her, talked to her, written a letter, smelled her perfume on an envelope five, long, years, and now he was home, he just hoped that it was still the home he had left, and that it still belonged to him. His gaze roamed over the trimmed grass of the front yard of the two story house in front of him, to smooth white paint on the vinyl siding and fresh, deep blue paint on the shutters, eventually landing on the roofed front porch, complete with lounge chairs, a mail-table, and two rockers, and the closed front door. His mouth had, as well as his throat, been parched for thirst for some unknown amount of time since he'd began his endeavor to finally arrive here, and as he stood, trembling, clutching his chest subconsciously, he found his mouth getting even drier, and a lump forming in his throat. Tears, that he had long since been convinced were no longer existent, formed in the backs of his eyes, stinging his retinas, and it was as if the air was becoming thinner by the minute, forcing his lungs to labor for oxygen. Please, he thought desperately as he dragged his feet further up the front walk to the steps of the porch. His left hand moved to grip the rail tightly, his right staying clutched against his heart. Please be here. I want to come home...