A short post-GFA-snippet
Last night, after a documentary on North Koreans, who manage to escape to the south, and their
problems of integration into a democratic, very western society, I was feeling a bit blue…
Pairing: Hawk/ B.J., B.J.'s POV
Archive: mash-slash, T'Len's & Lady Charena's place, and whoever else wants to have it – just ask!
Disclaimer: None of this is my own. MASH and the characters belong to 20th Century Fox. I'm not
profiting from my works of fiction, even though I'd like to.
Packing my bags again...funny, it seems to be more difficult now, more things to pack, but that can't
be. I zip the bags shut and shrug into my jacket, fingers lingering briefly at the lower hem before
resolutely closing the zipper. Now that the roar of engines and rotor-blades has faded, the 4077th, a
place that would constantly alternate between too much work and boredom, has become a ghost-town.
And I feel right at home, a ghost of a former self I am loathe to get reacquainted with. I probably won't
recognize him when I meet him…whenever that will be.
The wind blows dust and silence into my face, grains of sand sting my skin, stick to my sweaty face.
For one last time, I inhale and taste Korea the way I've come to hate – and tolerate – it. From now on,
it'll just be 'a place in Asia I'll never come back to'.
There, everything's accounted for, even the few items I deliberately left behind the last time I left. Why
did they bring them along when moving the camp? I was gone, they should have left them to
burn…and I don't know who saved them from the flames, cheap knickknacks that sure aren't worth
My guess would be Hawkeye.
And I never asked him why. Why, in spite of how much I hurt him, he bothered to pack the painful
reminders of the past two years, a togetherness neither he nor I ever *wanted* but which simply
*happened*. The silly patchwork straw-hat that could pass for a bird's nest, the kimono, the parka
from Sears I would have no use for in Northern California…funny how even in purgatory people
manage to clutter their lives with material insignificances.
With a sigh, I carry the bags to the motorcycle. Now where's that piece of rope again…?
They're all gone now. I am the last to leave. The nurses, the men, the trucks bearing tents and
equipment, our commander and his horse, and also my…
I wonder why I cannot even think the word.
The one thing I never would have expected Korea to have in store for me…for me, the man who has
Temptation, frustration, and salvation – all in one body, one damaged soul.
I had everything…and therefore I had everything to lose.
How long will my goodbye, written in stone, remain once this ravaged land is left in the hands of the
natives once more? Under moss and grass, it'll pass…fifty years from now, what will this place look
like? Will anything remain to tell of our sweat, blood and tears?
If I had known and seen today from yesterday
I would be in love