I wrote a story.

I think I lied ... I am totally sick of applications.

anyway, I wrote a story. What think you?

He surveyed the landscape below, a reconnaissance scout preceding his unit. His perch was unsteady, the path to it unsound, but he was capable and surefooted.

In the distance, light glinting off the flasks of his companions made obvious their position. Far in the other direction lay their destination, their home. In between, an assortment of perils, a mosaic of uncertainty.

He took it in, the totality of the landscape, committing it to memory, before gingerly descending the sheer cliff face.

Reuniting with his group, he conferred with the commander, who in turn readied the men. They were a proud group, but the brutality of their toils was obvious - clothing barely held together on scarred frames, breath coming raggedly through parched lips on drawn taut faces. Home signified this journey’s end and their arrival could not come quickly enough.

He had not always been the scout. The first scout vanished and, initially, no one was willing to take his place. Nor, really, should they have – the unit was efficient, each man utterly capable in his crucial job. It became obvious, though, as injuries increased and progress slowed, that the unit required a replacement.

After days of deep consideration, he volunteered. It was frightening to leave the unit, however briefly, but that fear had to be conquered. He would never admit to a certain pleasure felt atop a hard-found vantage point.

Readied, the group moved slowly forward, guided past peril, towards the embrace of the home they so greatly longed for.