terminatefate (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
terminatefate) wrote2011-09-10 06:28 pm
terminatefate) wrote2011-09-10 06:28 pm
Letters In the Sandstorm
July, 10, 2004
Journal
LOCATION: Some fucking desert
TIME: Dusk
___________________________________________
In the semi-darkness of a closed tent, the wind woke me with its howl. Lost and forlorn, it shrieked and wailed, lashing sand in whipping waves against the canvas. John and I had stopped for a moment to seek shelter from the storm, to wait it out. The temperature has dropped at least ten degrees in the last few hours--this night will be a long, cold one. You don't think about it being cold in the desert, but the extremes are there. Good fucking thing I've done this before. John's making pipe bombs, admittedly my favorite form of explosive. Funny, though, it's only my favorite because of Kyle. There are explosives that are more effective. I guess that makes me a little sentimental. I watch John work and his movements are quick, no energy wasted. We've both done this a thousand, a million times and we could both make a bomb with our eyes closed. I want to stop him, for just a moment, and look at him but I won't. Time has become fragmented, though I am hyper-aware of it, the seconds that tick by while Humanity marches onward toward their destruction.
I want so badly to prevent Skynet's creation.
But the closer we get to arriving at that solution, Skynet seems to slip from our grasp. New weapons, new Terminators, new moments in time. It hunts us even as we hunt it.
Skynet doesn't give up because it's a machine--it's programming demands that it continue onward until its enemy is terminated.
As I watch my son screw the last cap down, he looks up at me and I know that I will continue onward out of my love for him. To me, he is not an asset, a man on a chessboard, a piece that will win the war to come against the machines. John Connor is the last thing I have left, the final gift Kyle Reese gave me before he died. If I learned anything from Kyle, it's that no matter what the cost, no matter what the odds, you can achieve the impossible.
So, I'm not giving up. No matter what happens tomorrow or what Skynet sends.
I love you, Kyle, and I miss you. I'm keeping him safe the best I know how and I hope to God he can forgive me one day for being a hardass. I wish tough love wasn't so fucking tough and I wish I wasn't so tired. The wind is battering at our tent, the noise of it is grating and our one lantern flickers as John packs up. It's his night for cooking.
Rattlesnake.
This is some shit you got me into, Kyle, but I'm ready for tomorrow.
Well, as ready as I can be.
Journal
LOCATION: Some fucking desert
TIME: Dusk
___________________________________________
In the semi-darkness of a closed tent, the wind woke me with its howl. Lost and forlorn, it shrieked and wailed, lashing sand in whipping waves against the canvas. John and I had stopped for a moment to seek shelter from the storm, to wait it out. The temperature has dropped at least ten degrees in the last few hours--this night will be a long, cold one. You don't think about it being cold in the desert, but the extremes are there. Good fucking thing I've done this before. John's making pipe bombs, admittedly my favorite form of explosive. Funny, though, it's only my favorite because of Kyle. There are explosives that are more effective. I guess that makes me a little sentimental. I watch John work and his movements are quick, no energy wasted. We've both done this a thousand, a million times and we could both make a bomb with our eyes closed. I want to stop him, for just a moment, and look at him but I won't. Time has become fragmented, though I am hyper-aware of it, the seconds that tick by while Humanity marches onward toward their destruction.
I want so badly to prevent Skynet's creation.
But the closer we get to arriving at that solution, Skynet seems to slip from our grasp. New weapons, new Terminators, new moments in time. It hunts us even as we hunt it.
Skynet doesn't give up because it's a machine--it's programming demands that it continue onward until its enemy is terminated.
As I watch my son screw the last cap down, he looks up at me and I know that I will continue onward out of my love for him. To me, he is not an asset, a man on a chessboard, a piece that will win the war to come against the machines. John Connor is the last thing I have left, the final gift Kyle Reese gave me before he died. If I learned anything from Kyle, it's that no matter what the cost, no matter what the odds, you can achieve the impossible.
So, I'm not giving up. No matter what happens tomorrow or what Skynet sends.
I love you, Kyle, and I miss you. I'm keeping him safe the best I know how and I hope to God he can forgive me one day for being a hardass. I wish tough love wasn't so fucking tough and I wish I wasn't so tired. The wind is battering at our tent, the noise of it is grating and our one lantern flickers as John packs up. It's his night for cooking.
Rattlesnake.
This is some shit you got me into, Kyle, but I'm ready for tomorrow.
Well, as ready as I can be.