her lucky shemagh.
this is an old drabble but why dust keeps her old shemagh with her almost everywhere.
What had started off as an otherwise mundane day on base had been interrupted by suddenly screams of incoming mortar fire, which was always more than enough to send just about everyone into a haze of panic. Alyssa barely had the time to glance up at the hot Afghanistan skyline to see the thing coming down fast before she turned around to run and get right the fuck out of there unless she wanted to get hit by the fucking thing. Or so she tried to, before her boot connected with a rock half-buried in the sand in her state of alarm and had sent her face first into the ground.
But, after the sound of the initial impact there was nothing. Nothing else except the sound of the others yelling to get the fuck away and the feeling of dirt and sand sprinkling on her.
I’m not fucking dead. I should be fucking dead.
Alyssa opened her eyes, her head whipped to find the mortar sticking right out of the sand a few feet away. A dud. It was a fucking dud.
Her body was jerked back, getting her back up on her feet quick and a few feet away to safety. Looking up, Alyssa recognized him as one of the medics who had examined her and her squad after their vehicle had run over an IED the previous week... where the worst injury was a broken arm suffered by one, much to his amazement. Sputtering several obscenities under her breath as she used the shemagh around her neck to wipe the dirt from her face, Alyssa's heart was still pounding.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I…I’m fine. Just shaken up, but I’m good.”
Alyssa looked back up at him as he let out a laugh, the look of disbelief on his face was palpable as he gave her a firm, reassuring pat on the shoulder, “I can’t believe your fucking luck this week, Hayes. Fuckin’ A.”