By Patrick BAHZAD
A while ago, someone asked me for an excerpt of a piece of "fiction" I had written a couple of years ago. Well, here it is ... Original version is in French, so you'll have to excuse the quality of my English. I don't exactly intend to win a Nobel prize for litterature with this, but still, enjoy !
It was 8 am only, but the sun was already high in the sky. Grabbing a bath towel, Basquier was about to go for the showers, after his morning jog. It had been two weeks already since he had joined Fleischer and the rest of the group.
Around him, the small FOB was getting busy. “Voodoo Creek”, that was the name Fleischer had come up for it. A fitting description for a dozen housing containers that looked almost lost in that dried up valley, surrounded by a double wire fence, somewhere near the air base.
Basquier was just taking off his watch when he heard his boss outside, almost knocking down the door with his fist.
- Basquier, meeting in five ! Let’s go.
No shower then today, was Basquier’s first thought. He turned around, threw the towel unto his bed and started getting dressed. Outside, he could hear Fleischer knocking on another container door.
- Soubeyran, wake up, come on.
For a minute or so, nothing happened, but then Basquier heard the door open. He had a quiet laugh while putting on his desert fatigue. Soubeyran had been out all night, meeting one of his “girlfriends’” as he used to call them.
- Jesus, man, you look like shit, was Fleischer’s reaction as he probably saw Soubeyran’s unshaven face peeking through the container door.
Soubeyran was from the Cévennes Moutains in the South of France. Those mountain folks had a reputation as a tough people and Soubeyran was no exception, although he had picked another line of work than sheep farming, like his dad.
Continue reading here: 'The Athenaeum - Fiction only : Voodoo creek (excerpt 1/2)
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