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The Draft, a ficlet.
Jan. 31st, 2015 03:12 pmYou get home from work, and there, sitting on the dining room table, is a buff envelope from the Selective Service. Your heart drops. You knew it was a possibility, but you never thought it was going to be you, right? You grab a beer and sit down to read it.
"Greetings. Having submitted yourself to a Local Board composed of your neighbors for the purpose of determining your availability for training and service . . ." You scan down to see the induction date. Two weeks. Two weeks of freedom.
Dad is thrilled, all he can talk about is his two years, story after story at dinner. Mom is worried about you. Will you handle the stress? You've never been so far from home before. She wonders out loud if this will change you forever, and, more quietly, if you'll even come home. At work the next day, you get handshakes and backslaps from the older guys in the warehouse, and sympathetic looks from the younger ones. They know that only fate kept their number from coming up. Your boss cheerfully assures you that your job will be waiting when you get back. If you come back. Your girlfriend takes it hard. She's heard the stories; everyone has. You swear you'll be true to her and write everyday, but she points out that you'll be under incredible pressure in a strange place. Who knows what will happen? Inevitably, the day comes. Nursing an epic hangover from your farewell party, you board your flight to the training base.
Training is another world. The instructors are hard men; they've been there and know what you will be facing. Long days of constant drilling, learning every detail of your duties, forever on the run. At night in your bunk you despair of ever being good enough. But you are making friends with your fellow trainees. You all work together, conquering the arcane arts you are expected to master. Everyone needs help with something, and as the weeks fly by, you begin to believe in yourself and your mission. Finally, graduation day arrives. All the hard work has paid off. Out of your class of 150, only 4 failed to pass, and one of those was a medical discharge. With flags snapping in the wind and the band playing, you take your final oath. Then, with almost no time to breathe, you and your friends are packed onto a chartered transport to your final destination.
The mood on the plane changes from celebration to somber contemplation of what will be required in the coming days. Again, the doubts creep in. It gets worse when you land. Shouting men with clipboards herd you to the waiting buses. Overhead, military jets streak by. The air is thick and muggy. So different from home. After a short ride through the packed city center, you finally reach your new home. More shouting men call out each newbie by name, directing them off the bus towards waiting groups of veterans of this place. Your name gets called. Clutching your papers, your legs turn to jelly. The guy waiting for you looks fearsome. But his smile when he sees you is genuine, and his handshake firm.
"Welcome to the Capitol, Congressman; I'm your Chief of Staff." He waves towards the dome looming over the scene. "Want the tour now, or would you like to see your office first?"
"Greetings. Having submitted yourself to a Local Board composed of your neighbors for the purpose of determining your availability for training and service . . ." You scan down to see the induction date. Two weeks. Two weeks of freedom.
Dad is thrilled, all he can talk about is his two years, story after story at dinner. Mom is worried about you. Will you handle the stress? You've never been so far from home before. She wonders out loud if this will change you forever, and, more quietly, if you'll even come home. At work the next day, you get handshakes and backslaps from the older guys in the warehouse, and sympathetic looks from the younger ones. They know that only fate kept their number from coming up. Your boss cheerfully assures you that your job will be waiting when you get back. If you come back. Your girlfriend takes it hard. She's heard the stories; everyone has. You swear you'll be true to her and write everyday, but she points out that you'll be under incredible pressure in a strange place. Who knows what will happen? Inevitably, the day comes. Nursing an epic hangover from your farewell party, you board your flight to the training base.
Training is another world. The instructors are hard men; they've been there and know what you will be facing. Long days of constant drilling, learning every detail of your duties, forever on the run. At night in your bunk you despair of ever being good enough. But you are making friends with your fellow trainees. You all work together, conquering the arcane arts you are expected to master. Everyone needs help with something, and as the weeks fly by, you begin to believe in yourself and your mission. Finally, graduation day arrives. All the hard work has paid off. Out of your class of 150, only 4 failed to pass, and one of those was a medical discharge. With flags snapping in the wind and the band playing, you take your final oath. Then, with almost no time to breathe, you and your friends are packed onto a chartered transport to your final destination.
The mood on the plane changes from celebration to somber contemplation of what will be required in the coming days. Again, the doubts creep in. It gets worse when you land. Shouting men with clipboards herd you to the waiting buses. Overhead, military jets streak by. The air is thick and muggy. So different from home. After a short ride through the packed city center, you finally reach your new home. More shouting men call out each newbie by name, directing them off the bus towards waiting groups of veterans of this place. Your name gets called. Clutching your papers, your legs turn to jelly. The guy waiting for you looks fearsome. But his smile when he sees you is genuine, and his handshake firm.
"Welcome to the Capitol, Congressman; I'm your Chief of Staff." He waves towards the dome looming over the scene. "Want the tour now, or would you like to see your office first?"
