A flower

Hvis du har læst kong solomons miner så giver den her historie lidt ekstra til dig, men jeg kan faktisk super godt lide den.



A flower climbs through the tiniest crack in the ice. It brings promise of warmer days; it brings news from the soil. The cold gets the flower, but its message outlives its messenger’s death: We are still fighting.

“Africa calling Quatermain, stay on Shebas breast. Prepare to move into the mine Gagool.”Africa sat in complete darkness whispering into a small radio, his knees where pressed against his chest and he barely had room to move, it didn’t matter he wouldn’t stay there long anyway.
“Quartermain here, I am on Shebas breast, I have a possible companion for Silvestre, should I proceed?”
“No Silvestre must lie alone a bit longer. When the signal falls wait 15 seconds and give Silvestre a companion.”
“Understood Africa”
Radio silence, no one speaks, no one needs to. Quartermain is in position, Gagool knows the way in, and Africa is waiting for the wounded elephant to walk by. Footsteps… coming this way. He lifts his radio to his mouth and whisperes.
“Retain radio silence.” The radio crackled and fell silent, all that was heard were the silent footsteps slowly coming closer. Africa stopped breathing, as the footsteps passed, slowly fading away again. It was almost time, the next one should be the one. Everything is silent in the darkness, he slowly reaches in his breast pocket, the low noice of the clothe sounds like thunder in the silence. He feels around in the pocket, pulling out a small cylinder with a small button on one end. He fumbles a bit with the cylinder before the button starts glowing red, like it knows that the time draws near. The red glow bathes Africa and the crate he is hidden in, in a sea of red light. An omen perhaps of what is to come, for those who call Africa their enemy.
Footsteps… louder this time, slower, and irregular. The wounded elephant, it is time. Africa places his thumb on the red button, it asks… no it begs to be pushed, but Africa resist, he knows that timing is everything. Timing will decide whether or not Africa is a madman or a genius. Someone once said that the two were separated only by the degree of success. Africa holds his breath as the wounded elephant passes, the spring creaks as the red button is pressed down. Nothing happens… a footstep from the wounded elephant. Another footstep, did he noticed? Africa breathes again as the third footstep is heard, just one more.
“CLICK!” the sound screams in Africa’s ears as the elephant takes its fourth. It pierces the silence like laughter at a funeral, but the elephant doesn’t hear it. The war torn elephant lost his hearing to a bomb shell many a year ago. He lifts his foot, he doesn’t know, he didn’t hear it. He doesn’t realize something is wrong before he is flying with one of his feet 10 inches from his eyes.
Africa doest move, he barely even flinches as the mine goes off. Fifteen seconds, the elephant screams, good. 10 seconds, two pairs of running footsteps approach from the sides. 5 seconds, Africa pulls a gun from it holster and prepares. 2 seconds, the footsteps stop as they arrive at the elephant. 0 seconds, someone falls to the floor, the other falls too as the sound of the first gunshot finally arrives.
No more plans, no more thinking, no more hiding. Africa pull back the hammer on his gun and crawls out of the crate. No more plans, no more thinking, no more hiding, now action must speak as Gagools truck smash through the front gate, they were in the mine. Now all they had to do was fight their way out with what they came for.

A flower climbs through the tiniest crack in the ice. It brings promise of warmer days; it brings news from the soil. The cold gets the flower, but its message outlives its messenger’s death: We are still fighting.