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Title: Lazy Days and Sundays

FF.net Penname: Rally Collins

Guild Profile: Ladycrystalite

Genre: General/Action

Status: In-Progress

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Bandai, Sotsu Agency and Sunrise own Mobile Suit Gundam Wing. I do not. This is just for your entertainment and my need to brush up on my writing skills.

Summary: Part 4 of Lelandra's "20 Word Mix" prompt challenge. Prompt is "lazy." All he can ask for out of life is the occasional day to just relax and do nothing. Unfortunately, there's an ancient but powerful Chinese curse that goes, "May your life be interesting."

Teaser:

Lazy days and Sundays always get me down.

Was that how that old song went? Well, wasn't that just bleak as all Hell and gone? And who the Hell thought of Sundays as being depressing? Mondays, sure, but not Sundays. And lazy days were never dreary. Not that there were a lot of them going around, but, damn, I'd take a lazy day any time of the week.

"Showtime," I breathed, left thumb smashing down the button of a pen-sized detonator. The explosion came only a second or two later, just enough time to tuck all limbs in tightly and plaster my body against the short stone wall before the flames whooshed past overhead. As soon as it was clear, I was up over the wall and running, eyes sweeping the area and right hand responding to any potential threat, popping up to squeeze off a couple of rounds toward each one.

I was halfway to the outer wall before my gunfire was returned. A quick drop to the ground and a full two rolls to the left got me under the safety of a transport truck. Now, I do not consider that the underbelly of a truck would be a safe location for very long, but it was the only cover. "s**t." The mutter was lost as several other guns joined the first in a chorus of weapon fire.

Thank god trucks don't just decide to explode in glorious fireballs of death from a stupid bullet or two as every action movie would have us believe. If they did, well, let's just say that there would now be a Duo Maxwell-shaped charred red splat right in the middle of the local OZ training facility. A few more guns joined in on the fun and it occurred to me, I didn't want to end up as a Duo Maxwell-shaped simple red splat in the middle of the local OZ training facility either, so I had better damn well figure something out.

I look at the detonator in my left hand. Why was I still holding that? There was only the one bomb, it's not like I still needed it, but for some odd reason, I really didn't want get rid of it. I scuttled backward toward the end of the truck, apparently, not getting low enough, because my back unexpectedly hits the low hanging muffler and knocks me flat onto the ground. Gasoline fumes burn the inside of my nostrils as I peel my much abused face off of the pavement and there's a distinct sensation of liquid trickling onto my shoulder blades. Awesome. The fuel tank's been hit and I do exactly what any highly-trained soldier would do; maneuver myself directly under it. Brilliant, Maxwell. What's your next plan? Strike a match?

In rolls a perfectly-timed grenade. "Goddamn."