Disclaimer: I own nothing about Stargate SG-1, I'm only doing this for my own enjoyment. Hope you enjoy it too!
Time. It's something that many people don't have enough of.
There comes a time in every individual's life when he dangles in the void between life and death, struggling to climb out. He reaches for handholds that are not there, his feet search for platforms that have crumbled away and he can do nothing, but hang there and hope for someone to come and save him.
He hates feeling helpless, and he longs for the calm after the tempest that he is now caught up in. It's a calm that may never come, but he cannot be sure. He can't remember how long he's been in the void. Minutes, hours, maybe even days, but he isn't willing to go that far. He'll stick with minutes, or better yet, seconds. The less time he has been dangling, the more of a chance he'll have of being saved.
He isn't afraid of death, he knows that it will come to call on him eventually, but he's not ready yet. His time on Earth is so unfulfilled, so empty and unfinished.
His grip falters, he snatches it back, and he's not letting go. A soft wind rustles through his hair. He ignores it. A sound, far off grabs his attention. What is it? Gunshots? Yes, that sounds right, the gunshots ring in the dark distance. He can't tell which direction they are coming from, all he knows is that they exist, or do they? They could be phantom shots from the past, come back to haunt him one last time, they are. He's almost sure of it.
With his realization, the shots fall silent and wind scampers over his cold skin, skin that is chilled with the approach of death. He struggles to open his eyes. He wants one last look at the world. He wants to see the sky again, he misses the clouds and he isn't even gone yet.
With all of his strength, he manages to open his eyes to mere slits. The strong, metallic scent of blood encircles him. Blood, his blood, his life force is slowly draining away from him to seep into the ground beneath his helpless body.
The action seems to have died away, there are no more men screaming as there had been previously. The rain has stopped and now a slim sliver of blue sky stares lovingly down at him while sunlight filters through grey clouds that wander gracefully across the distance. He smiles ever so slightly and almost immediately afterwards, gasps as stabs of pain streak through him. His world fades, but he holds onto it and refuses to give in. He isn't finished with life yet.
The calm has come, following the storm, but there is no calm for him. His life is leaving him; his body is betraying him, letting him down. He feels alone and he watches the clouds drift across the sky. The sight comforts him, but only temporarily until he is once again reminded of his suffering.
He watches the sky, listens to the world and allows his mind to drift away. He thinks back and analyzes how he came into the situation in which he is now being held prisoner. He thinks it is his own fault, but he doesn't understand how. He hasn't done anything to deserve this, he hasn't made any stupid moves such as he has in the past. He was only walking and he walked into a battlefield that he didn't even know existed.
He remembers now. He remembers the many shouts of his enemies when they saw him approach. He recalls the sound of the first shot that rang out in the peaceful silence. He remembers running. He heard Colonel O'Neill on the radio.
"Jonas, we're taking fire!"
Yes, he was taking fire as well. He dodged shots, and rolled free of some of them, yet it hadn't been enough. One had hit the target and another followed. He fell forward and hit the ground hard. His mind screamed at him to get up and keep going, but he couldn't. He just couldn't do it. It was too much. His world had blacked out until moments ago when he'd finally awoken. Now he was alone, the battle had moved elsewhere, leaving hundreds of dead littering the ground.
There was a pained moan that came from his right. Another soul was slowly dying, another soul that had so much to live for, one that felt like there were so many things unfinished, a soul that hadn't said goodbye to those back home. A soul much like his own.
Goodbye, it was probably one of his least favorite words because every goodbye could be the last. This is especially true in his job. In his job, a single goodbye holds a world of meaning and importance. He hadn't said goodbye. He'd said 'see you later.' Yeah, right. He should've said goodbye to his friends when he'd gone for his walk, but he hadn't. Now he regretted it.
The cold wind blows again. His wounds cry to him, his life keeps slipping away. He feels himself falling into unconsciousness, but he doesn't want to fall because if he falls, he might never wake up again. He holds on, but he cannot keep his grip and he finds his mind wandering back to what went so wrong. It's a question that he doesn't even know he can find the answer to…