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Imul - There's hope, or is there?

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@Samira Neathler ...so I'm never gonna emotionally recover from this. 


(( The Dark Streets of Witherington - Indre III ))

Walking from shadow to shadow, his coat heavy from the rain, Imul moved forward. One street in, one street out, staying away from the patrolling Cardassians. After leaving Lark, Gramma and Seva behind with the stolen shuttle, he had returned to the barn, helping out distributing the medical supplies they had obtained. He had a long talk with Rhita about his and the colony’s future. He had left the barn in a more cheerful mood than he had felt in a long time. Things were looking up. He was certain his cousin would be happy with the news too and thus he was heading back towards Lidal’s home.

As he rushed along the streets, he noticed several houses with open doors. He walked slower as he approached a similar house. The blood drained from his face as he recognised the seven-petaled-flowed etched into the door. He stood there for half a minute. Half a minute turned into a minute. His ears only picking up the rain. Not a single noise came from inside the house. Everything was quiet and dark while the rain assaulted the bare hallway.

Lightning filled the sky, and he looked up, expecting the loud bang of the thunder to follow. Yet it never came. The light show behind the clouds continued. As if an invisible force was lighting the clouds with a candle, strutting from one cloud to another. A faint meow came from inside the hallway. A grey cat escaped the confinement of the house and disappeared underneath a bush. Probably the only way to keep somewhat dry in this terrible weather.

Imul continued his route. A few more streets and turns and he’d be home. He had to take cover for another patrol, just before he entered the street that housed Lidal’s property. There it stood, a silhouette against the dark sky, now and then lit by the lightning peeking from behind the clouds.

He inhaled deeply. Finally he’d be home, with good news. But then his breath halted. He ran down the street, towards his cousin’s house. The door stood ajar, like he had seen with several houses before. The same flower with the seven petals was engraved onto the door. His heart stood still. He rushed inside. Someone had tossed all the belongings onto the floor. The disarray this time was even worse than when he hid upstairs when the Cardassians payed them a visit.

But his eyes barely registered the chaos. His gaze rested on the two bodies beneath the staircase. Lidal and Mrai. In their final moments, they had managed to embrace one another. He screamed, but his mouth didn’t make a single sound. He slumped on his knees next to the bodies. The tears in his eyes skewed his vision. Next to him, a familiar sounding voice came out of the radio that had been tossed on the floor.

Tahna: =/\= Citizens of Witherington– ::She paused.:: You know who the Cardassians are and what they do. You know they will destroy your homes, your lives, on a whim. Do not let them. Now is your chance to stop them. Not for yourself, but for your family, your friends, your children, so they never have to see the trauma of a Cardassian occupation. So your people and planet can thrive, free. =/\=

Tahna: =/\= Resist, sow chaos, protect the vulnerable. You are not fighting alone. This is your life, your home. Take it back. =/\=

He stood up, shoulders slumped as he reached for the radio, raised his arms and thrashed the box against the ground. The kids! How could he forget the kids? Taking the stairs with two or three steps at the same time, he reached the platform in no time. The bedroom door stood open, two more motionless tiny figures lay on the bed. A cry escaped his lips. He turned around and slowly descended the stairs. All hope was gone. His eyes stared in the distance as he walked out on the streets.

In the distance, Cardassians space ships set flight to the occupied warehouses. Imul didn’t see them, nor did he register the first aircraft shooting at those warehouses. Nor did he hear the shouting and the footsteps behind him. He barely felt the blast in his back as he fell on his knees. Gone was the image of him working on the Witherington fields on a sunny day, teaching his cousin’s children the tricks of the trade.

All that was left was darkness.

Gone but not Forgotten. 
Simmed by:
Executive Officer
USS Gorkon


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