The Boatman

In response to the DP Challenge : Cliffhanger!

For this week’s challenge, write a post that will leave readers waiting for more. Breathless with anticipation. On the edges of the seats. Obsessively clicking “refresh,” waiting impatiently for the end of the story. We want to hear audible groans when readers reach the end of your post and see “To be continued…”

Bonus points for Sylvester Stallone!

A/N: This was going to be a humorous tragic fiction piece (a result of reading Hamlet), but then I was challenged with including Sylvester Stallone. So I did.  He appears as ‘the boatman’ aka John Rambo. I love the Rambo movies (First Blood Part II being a favorite) and so I just went with it. This is based from the fourth movie in the series, Rambo, and is told from the view of the mercenaries rather than Rambo himself. I’ll call it a fan-fiction, but I consider it more of just adding more depth to the plot and dialogue… Either way, it’s for shits and giggles. 

Thanks to Drew’s Script-O-Rama for providing the Rambo Dialogue Transcript that was used in writing this. Check out here for more awesome free movie scripts!

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“Any of you boys want to shoot, now’s the time. There isn’t one of us that doesn’t want to be someplace else. But this is what we do, who we are. Live for nothing, or die for something. Your call.”

There is a momentary pause in which the rest of the mercenaries take a chance to fully glance around and mentally ask each other the question they were all thinking. Who was this guy? What was this guy? Of course, School Boy is the first to open his goddamned mouth – he did it at the bar when Diaz was finally about to score, why wouldn’t he do it here? –  and quite possibly get them into much deeper shit than before.

“Are we,” He whispers to Reese, “supposed to like respond to that or something? You know, like salute or thump our chests?”

Why would we respond to that is a better question,” Reese mutters back, all while shooting wary glances at the man holding their leader at…arrow point. He momentarily forgets that it might be wiser if they were to simply shut their traps and slowly back away“It’s Lewis’ eye that’s in danger, not mine. Plus the boatman’s fingers seem a little too twitchy for my tastes. He could turn that shit on us any second.” He was restarting to rethink this whole grab-and-rescuse mission they were on. Honestly, they didn’t really need the money, not when the cost was starting to get steeper with every step they plunged into the dark and demented slums of Burma. Plus, he wasn’t too fond of Lewis either. Arrogant ass still owed him fifty dollars.

En-Joo, deciding that since neither his companions apparently had the wish to live, it lies with him to save all their asses, promptly elbows them both hard into their sides, shutting them up immediately, a feat only accomplished due to the long slaving hours of working side-by-side.

Meanwhile, Diaz, being Diaz, has already relocated himself two feet away from the whole mess; still progressively inching  backwards even while they shoot him looks of contempt. He glares back. He’s not the idiot in this situation. Nope. Not this time. He remembers all too well what happened last time they were up against a jacked-up psycho hell-bent on proving he was the walking god of war on earth. ‘Course, last time they were facing a trigger-happy Aussie waging war on the endangered ‘roos with goals of Outback poaching domination, but still – crazy was crazy – and he quite liked having his balls still attached to him.

“What’s your call?” And Lewis’ sass has Diaz cringing instinctively, his hand jamming in his pocket forward, an attempt to cup protectively around his junk without bringing too much attention. He ignores School Boy’s snickering, the bastard knows fully well he’d be shielding his jewels too if he’d been through what he had.

“Let’s move.”

So they do. Immensely relieved they hadn’t poked the viper too much or too hard this time – yet.

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En-Joo is the first to notice their group dynamics shifting, but he stays quiet because to bring up such an issue, now, would most likely lead to their deaths. Besides, what does he care if School Boy follows the boatman with eyes of hero worship. As long as it doesn’t get either of them killed, School Boy could pretty much do whatever he damn well pleased, especially since his sniping skills were a thing to be gravely reckoned with.

It’s when they’re about to leave the boatman and what’s-her-face behind, when the others begin to notice too. By then, it’s too late.

Lewis doesn’t miss a beat. “He knew the deal.”

School Boy is infuriated. He can’t believe what he’s hearing and he turns to the others, sure they’ll back him up. Comrades are comrades, right? In School Boy’s eyes, the boatman is one of them now. That means all the rules of honor and basic fucking decency should apply. Regardless of the situation, leave no man behind. He knew that. They knew that.

Reese’s eyes slide away from his and Diaz’s seem too jittery as they bounce all ’round refusing to stare him straight on. Even En-Joo resigns himself to shying away from his heated gaze and looking at the ground. He gets it though. Everyone just wants to collect their payment and go home. They’re mercenaries for a reason. Still. It hurts. Though, there is comfort, in that at least, En-Joo could see that what they were doing was wrong.

“We came together,” He finds himself growling, “We fucking leave together!”

“Your Life. Let’s go.”

When they go, rescued missionaries trailing pitifully after them, Diaz and Reese spare him a look back, a silent apology and farewell in their eyes. He doesn’t need to see to know that En-Joo hasn’t done the same, the implied good luck, kid hitting him in the chest as always when he decides to do something reckless.

Fortunately, he doesn’t need it.

Unfortunately, they do.

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Posted on January 7, 2014, in My Writings, Prompts/Challenges, Short Stories and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 4 Comments.

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