My Soldier (Brittana fan fiction)* Discontinued*

chapter 4

This place seems so foreign now. Newspapers blow about the street but I don't pay no attention to them, they were no more bother than fall leaves, just ugly. I passed the graffiti and the scarred lampposts, barely noticing the beat up old cars. This place is falling apart just as much as it ever was, but it reminds me of all of the memories that me, my pop, my friends and even my ma made. The people that I drive past don't irritate me, perhaps one day they would see the world though my eyes. Ahead was the intersection and the bus stop that I always used to stand at and make out with my girlfriend. The range rover came to a halt outside a house. My house. The house was exactly how it was before I left, the paintwork on the trim was brilliant white, flawless and the path wound to a double oak front door in loose pea shingle. The windows weren't the large ones that are so fashionable now, but more the size used to see in old country cottages, and like them they were mullioned. As I step out the car a cool breeze instantly hits me making my uniform ripple as I saunter up to the house with my duffel bag resting hanging from my hand. Mine and my pops feet almost silent of the sidewalk still wet from the spring rain. I hear the jingle that keys make when somebody is getting them from their bag or pocket and my Pop slips a silver one into the lock and opens it. He walks in and wipes his feet on the mat. Once across the threshold it was technology and modern design all the way. The floors were polished concrete and the furniture Scandinavian, high end designers only. The only compromise to comfort was the sheepskin on the floor, so clean it was hard to believe anyone had ever stepped foot on it. The only mess was the wet footprints that I made from my boots which I forgot to remove. It's exactly how I remember it, everything's still in the same place. Actually I tell a lie, it's cleaner than I remember. I look to my pop and smile at him, setting my bag on the floor I head over to the living room and smile where I see that the black leather sofa is still set in front of the flat screen, from here I can see a butt imprint no doubt from my pa where he sit's endlessly watching cooking programmes. Squinting, I try to look at the pictures that are over the mantle. I walk over to them and a soft smile graces my lips, I pick up one that is in a frame of me in my ACU uniform. That was taken the day before I was going to be deployed to Germany. Another is of me and my pop with massive smiles on our faces holding up the fish that we caught. Yeah I was 5 in that picture. Looking over I see one that makes me swallow. It's a picture of me, my pop and my ma. I'm in between them and they both have their arms around me. We look like such a happy family there. I clear my throat a little and stiffen straight. I hear pitter patters behind me and a big smile appears on my face, I spin around and fall to my knees with a laugh when a furry mess runs to me with her massive pink tongue hanging out of her mouth. Charlie. She's a golden retriever and she's my baby. I remember when my dad picked her up fresh from the pound, she was a raw bundle of unspent energy, crammed into a canine shape several sizes too small for his personality. She grew to twice the size they thought she might, but that can happen with mutts. I reckon there's some ridgeback in there, some kind of bull-dog too. She leaps like a puppy and then pushes her body into mine like she's trying to get closer. In seconds I'm covered in slobber, her tongue of sandpaper almost dripping with every lick. Her tail isn't wagging side to side but going round and round like a helicopter blade; any happier and I think those dinner-plate paws might catch some air. She was a Christmas present from my dad back when I was 12. I bet the furniture still has her chew marks and the front door is clawed beyond repair. I had to replace every shoe I owned but I didn't care, she was everything.

"Hello girl… Hello. Did you miss me? Haha" I chant as I play with her floppy ears and itch her furry head. I plant a big kiss to her muzzle and stand up. I walk to the kitchen with her by my side to see my pop fixing me up a meal. I chuckle and lean against the counter. I can remember the many meals my pa cooked for me over the years, all different but the same in so many ways because they were made by my old man, so it makes them special. I hiss a little as my shoulder cramps up a little and my pop looks up at me from the onion he's chopping with a concerned frown.