Dies Irae

One Shot Collection

One

“We live in the midst of alarms; anxiety beclouds the future; we expect some new disaster with each newspaper we read.”

- Abraham Lincoln

Reno thumbed through the black and white paper, looking for the headline on the plate. Funny, in a world controlled by Shin-Ra how it got pushed to the back. Not that he minded; less attention drawn to him. The fluorescents burned above him, illuminating the thin sheets so that they glowed yellow in the shadowy hospital room.

He finally found the article, a little piece about a paragraph long. The Turks weren’t even mentioned, only AVALANCHE, and how they had to be stopped. So, had he gotten third degree burns and broken bones for nothing? No. He was serving his family, serving the Turks. He’d taken one for the team.

He looked up when he felt a careful gaze fall on him and grinned from ear to ear when he was solemn Rude in the door way.

“He buddy, you bring the booze?”

The man held out two bottles filled with smooth amber liquid. They looked inviting as the arms of a mother welcoming her lost son home.

His friend handed him the bottled, then remembered himself and twisted of the cap. The sound of the metal smacking as it separated itself from the glass seemed deafening in the silence.

Another pop and they toasted.

To what? They weren’t really sure, but they did know one thing:

They were family.

A/N: Lighter to start. I owe Respect the Hobos for fueling my insane rants. I blame everything on her. It’s all her fault.